


There Is A Light That Never Goes Out

by OktaviaMiki



Series: The Life Robotic [1]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - Chobits, Alternate Universe - Robots & Androids, Averted Non-Con, Clarification in Author's Note, F/M, Falling In Love, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Implied/Referenced Torture, M/M, Minor Natasha Romanov/Sam Wilson, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Robot/Human Relationships, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-18
Updated: 2017-08-20
Packaged: 2018-12-10 18:47:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 39,381
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11697693
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OktaviaMiki/pseuds/OktaviaMiki
Summary: Two years have passed since Bucky was honorably discharged from the army, and still he’s plagued by the scars and memories. While coping by means of drinking, he orders a persocom, a popular humanoid computer, who arrives (naked) the following morning and he names “Steve”. Bucky wants nothing to do with Steve at first, but because of Steve’s kind influence he begins to open up and his outlook on life changes for the better. Lines are blurred when Bucky realizes his feelings for Steve go beyond that of an owner and machine, feelings Steve might return.





	1. \ENTER PASSWORD

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! This is my first ever completed Big Bang fic, I'm so proud how it turned out. There's some heavy stuff, and I hope I've written it respectfully. Despite what the summary implies, Steve does not “cure” Bucky's anxiety or PTSD. He helps of course, he suggests healthy coping methods and opens the door for Bucky to seek treatment, but he in no why “saves” Bucky with his love. Which is unrealistic and wrong. Thank you for reading, please enjoy!
> 
> Full list of warnings and explanation of warning tags in the end notes. Feel free to message me if you think I missed something!
> 
> Betaed by the amazing [Romance](https://volume2chapter2x.tumblr.com), couldn't have done it without you!
> 
> Major props to [frau-argh](https://frau-argh.tumblr.com), [comedicdrama](https://comedicdrama.tumblr.com), and [10ftalice](https://10ftalice.tumblr.com) for their lovely art!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The plot kicks off. Bucky wakes after a night of drinking to find a package on his doorstep. A package with a naked body in it.

“Even though I know it’s just a toy, I know that it’s not alive, why do I feel sad about it? Why should I feel anything for it, be it happy or sad?”

“It’s only natural. Even if they aren’t alive, you are. You care because you’re alive, because you have a heart.”

_—_ Chitose Hibiya and Ichiro Mihara

* * *

For days, maybe weeks for all he knew, Bucky’s only instinct was to “stay awake”. The more he thought it, the harder it was to obey, and the easier it was to ignore.

He had been leaning against the cell wall for support, but in his weak state he slipped. His back dragged along the bricks and he collapsed to the ground, unable to right himself. He didn’t care. Temperature wise, sitting or lying down wasn’t much of difference. The room had no heating, so the pounding snowfall outside probably felt the same, if not warmer.

A drawback to his new position was how susceptible he became to falling asleep. Without realizing it, his eyelids were already closing. _Awake_ , he urged, forcing himself to look at the sputtering lightbulb above him. He inhaled, exhaled—gently, his ribs had more than a few breaks—and watched his breath swirl out in a fog.

Bucky became used to the cold, at least he wanted to think he had. When he had first been sentenced to the tiny cell, all he did was shiver. The guard wouldn’t allow him to stand, so keeping his circulation in motion proved difficult. He could rub his legs, change his seating position if he was careful with his hand raised in submission. He had to clamp his mouth shut to keep his teeth from chattering. When it hurt too much to bend his fingers, he bit his lip, so hard it drew blood. He welcomed the coppery taste in mouth, the trickle down his chin, it was something new to focus on. As time passed, the numbness took over, followed by the sweet, sweet apathy.

He couldn’t fathom what his face looked like, but he assumed it wasn’t pretty. He felt the bruising on his eyes beginning to clear up, at least. His ribs too, though tender, were starting to heal. His left arm unfortunately didn’t seem to be improving. The bleeding had stopped long ago under the makeshift bandage, but despite his many attempts, Bucky couldn’t will it to move. Eventually he stopped trying.

The guard had been gone for an abnormally long time. Until then, he wouldn’t leave him alone for more than a minute before returning, his automatic always pointed at Bucky’s head. If he strode in right now and saw him on the floor, Bucky was certain he’d receive more than a verbal reprimand.

Again, he found it hard to care. _Just let him find me_ , he thought. _Put me out of my_ _—no..._

Bucky’s sight was fading to black around the edges. A heaviness settled over his chest, a blanket that kept him bound to the ground. He could feel his consciousness flicker away, his eyes closing.

_There’s so much I have to...I can’t...not now...not..._

It was then that he noticed the figure kneeling in front of him. Someone Bucky had never seen amongst his captors. They wore a coat with the Soviet state emblem emblazoned on the shoulder.

Bucky’s lips cracked as he opened them to speak. “No...” The word was all he could manage, coming out small and brittle.

“Heartbeat detected.” The voice was feminine. Hands reached toward him, gripping him by the shoulders as the person turned him over on his back. Bucky gasped as a new surge of pain tore through him at the movement.

“First and second degree stages of hypothermia. Likely amputation of left arm. Survival chances: forty-three percent.” A pair of eyes stared down at him, the dead clinical eyes of a machine.

The figure smiled. Blood spatters were visible on their face. “Be at ease. Help will arrive shortly, sir.”  

* * *

A stapler. Of everything that could have triggered him, it was a fucking stapler that drove Bucky into the office bathroom, pressed up against the stall, holding himself to keep from screaming.

The day had been on the better side. His work was going smoothly, he hadn’t received any spreadsheet revisions. Sam joined him for lunch on the roof. The creepy office ’com Vision hadn’t stopped by his area.

Then somebody had to knock their stapler off their desk, and the noise sent Bucky was right back to hell.

He forced himself to breathe, steadying his hands on the handicapped railing. “You’re at work, you’re home, you’re safe,” he shouted, persistent, making himself listen. “You’re safe. Safe.”

It took longer than usual to make himself believe it.

Bucky sighed, thoroughly exhausted, but relieved to be done with the attack. He ripped off a couple squares of toilet paper to wipe his sweating palms. A tremor shook through his hands as he dried them, even his left artificial one, the aftershock still lingering.

He was just thinking how grateful he was for the bathroom to be empty, when he heard a knock on the outside door.

“Bucky? Is that you?” A British accent, firm but sympathetic. Peggy, his boss, the Carter of Carter Pharmaceuticals. She knocked a second time.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m here,” Bucky called, not moving from the stall.

“Vision reported that you’ve been holed up in there for over an hour.”

Bucky narrowed his eyes. “Vision can mind his fucking business.”

“Can’t help it, I’m afraid. It’s what he was programmed to do.” She paused. “Do you need me to call anyone? Sam, maybe? He’s in a sales meeting, I could pull him out.”

“No, no, I’m fine,” Bucky insisted. “I’m handling this. I’ll be out in a minute.”

Peggy didn’t respond right away. “All right. You’re done for the day.”

“What?”

“I said you can go home. You’re obviously not in the mindset for checking data.”

“And I said I was fine!”

“You can make up your work on Monday.”

“Let me do my job! I’m not fragile, so stop treating like a—” Bucky flinched after realizing what he said. He braced himself, half expecting Peggy to burst into the bathroom.

The door stayed closed. “That wasn’t a request,” she answered coolly, “unless I need to suspend you?”

“...No.” Bucky stepped out of the stall and opened the door leading to the office.

Peggy was outside waiting, her arms crossed.

“I’m sorry,” Bucky said. “And thanks.”

She grinned. “Have a nice weekend.”

* * *

The little girl across from him had been gawking since he got on the train. She couldn’t have been more than four years old. She squirmed in her seat, and ducked her head down when Bucky turned in her direction.

Bucky tucked his left hand into his sweatshirt. Even in the heat of summer, he tended to wear longer sleeves. Prosthetic limbs had been in public use for decades, but the sight of one without synthetic skin could still elicit a startled response.

“Daddy,” the girl whispered, tugging on the arm of the man beside her, “is that guy a persocom, too?”

“Sweetie, it’s impolite to stare.” Her father gave Bucky an apologetic nod.

Bucky smiled, and nodded back. He didn’t blame the girl. It wasn’t the first time he’d been mistaken for a machine.

Of all the persocoms on the train, he would have been the obvious choice with his left arm completely made of metal. The rest of his appearance however would readily disqualify him. He had failed to see a barber in over a year, so his brown hair had grown out to his neck (the dress code at Carter’s was on the lighter side of business casual, and as long as he kept it clean and presentable there were no complaints). His face was often stubbled, his blue eyes were tired and rimmed with dark circles. His build was a bit stronger than average, but even that was fading from neglecting to eat regular meals. Most people he came across found it hard to accept that he was only twenty-six.

Persocoms, personal humanoid computers, on the other hand were the image of perfection. Regardless if a male, female, or androgynous model was chosen, they were guaranteed to be pretty, in face and body. Glowing skin, lustrous hair, eyes that could be made to sparkle.

Originally developed in Japan fifteen years ago to massive country-wide success, the American market instantly saw potential and bought the rights to the coding and name brand. The states had seen androids come and go for retail, but never that responsive or realistic looking.      

Current persocoms were designed to be almost indistinguishable next to humans, save for their maker’s trademark or the charging cords snaking around their shoulders. The older models, like Vision, had a gaudy robot’s aesthetic, painted bright colors with limited facial expressions. As technology gathered speed and demand from the public skyrocketed, the computers became more customizable, with checklists and details to the customer’s desire.

They were the ultimate companion. They could carry out web searches, make phone calls, run errands, pinpoint your location, even do your taxes. And for the shadier, heavier users, they didn’t talk back, and they couldn’t say “no”. In Brooklyn alone, it was estimated that a persocom served one out of ten people.

Bucky had never been a user. As a teenager when most middle-class families had a household persocom in some form, his mother and father, bless them, never saw the need for one.

He had the bare bones of basic knowledge on how to to operate them, how to give simple commands and such, but other than that he wanted nothing to do with them. He found their presence unsettling. The way they looked at you, smiling bright with those big synthetic eyes, conveyed how hollow the beautiful shell really was.

While Bucky was stationed in Russia, he’d hoped by the time he returned that persocoms would fade out as fads do. Alas, their visibility only seemed to increase in the three years he was gone. Persocoms were behind grocery checkouts and secretary desks. Every other restaurant or convenience store he visited had at least one under employment. They weren’t going away anytime soon.

Half the current passengers on the train were mechanical, standing obediently next to their seated humans, waiting to be of use.

A female persocom in particular near the back of the car caught Bucky’s attention. Her blonde pigtails bounced as she twirled around and giggled for her bookish owner. It wasn’t that she was dancing that tipped Bucky off, it was what she was wearing. Her dress was short, glittery, and covered in red white and blue stars.

_Oh, fuck._

Today’s date should have sent up a red flag for him, the third of July. No wonder he’d been on edge. July fourth would arrive tomorrow. Independence Day, his most dreaded holiday.

* * *

Climbing the stairs to his fifth floor walk up felt more taxing than usual. The stress, Bucky figured, was taking its toll.

He locked the door behind him and collapsed on the couch, taking off his shoes with the heels of his feet. He curled up his legs, facing the cushions.

Bucky had lived in the one-bedroom apartment for over a year, yet there was little indication the space was his. It was furnished simply, the kitchen table, living room and bed set all IKEA bought in dull colors. As entertainment technology went, he owned a decent-sized television, his laptop from college, and a phone holo-screen that was two years old. Nothing so much as a photo frame hung from the walls. Apart from the abundance of heated blankets, there was no sense that this was his home.

Bucky checked the time on his cell to be greeted with several text alerts. _They have to be from Sam_ , he thought, groaning, and was proven correct when opened his messages.

(Friday 15:43 PM): heeeeey man, heard you ran out early. peggy’s working us ragged, huh? jk jk, need an ear?

(Friday 15:44 PM): if you’re feeling up to it, bunch of the sales guys are going bar hopping tonight. some social interaction + beer does a body good!

(Friday 17:03 PM): shit it’s the 4th tomorrow. come by if you want, my line’s always open.

Bucky turned the phone in his hands, wondering how he should respond. Finally, he texted back.

(Friday 17:16 PM): thanks, gonna stay put for now. maybe social stuff some other time. i’ll call you tomorrow.

He locked his phone, and buried deeper into the couch, letting his eyes close. If only by a tiny bit, he felt his anxiety lessen and the tension in his muscles relax.

Sam Wilson was his only co-worker that had hands-on military experience. He’d served two tours in the Air Force, even gaining some notoriety as one of the captors of an infamous war criminal. Sam understood Bucky’s panic attacks and his tendency to shut people away. He’d gone through it, too.

Bucky sat up to the sky outside his window retreating to a wash of violets and oranges. His cell screen read “17:42”. He’d been lying down for less than thirty minutes.

The night had barely begun, and Bucky firmly intended on keeping his word to Sam by remaining in his apartment for the next forty-eight plus hours. If he was going to get through tomorrow night in one piece, he needed a plan. Thankfully, he’d already bought in bulk what the first step to that plan required.  

With a blanket wrapped around his shoulders, he went the fridge and pulled out an opened six-pack of Brooklyn Lager.

Sam was right. Beer did do the body good. Time to get wasted.

* * *

The bottle jittered in his trembling fingers, his eighth he noted. Half its contents had splashed on the floor.

A song wafted around him, bittersweet and nostalgic. Bucky was a kid again, overhearing his sister hum the tune as she brushed her hair in front of her dresser mirror. Their parents were still alive. The warm smell of baking cookies drifted through the air. Bucky was talking, laughing with someone in his bedroom. A genuine smile on his lips, an honest one. He held on tight to the person’s hand. He could never make out their face.

“I don't care, I don't care. Driving in your car, I never never want to go home, because I haven't got one...”

Bucky knew the blackout was coming. Its warm embrace had all but smothered him.

“...to die by your side is such a heavenly way to die...”

“Yeah, it is.” He listened to himself speak. “Someone to die with you, so you’re not alone. That’d be...nice.” He heard a chuckle escape him, the hysterical sort. “As if I’m in the right mind for someone to love me...”

The bottle rolled away on the hardwood. Bucky looked at his beer-soaked hands, one metal, the other flesh.

“I’m just a human,” he said, clenching his fists. “Human.” It was the last thing he remembered doing that night.

* * *

_Stay awake, stay awake, stay aw_ _—_

Bucky’s eyes flew open. He shot up, chest heaving, his shirt from yesterday drenched in sweat.

Somehow he’d managed to pass out in bed, the sheets tangled around his legs. He threw them off, and suddenly felt like he’d been hit in the back of the head by a sledge hammer.

“God...damn it...” He pressed his face back into his pillow, fighting the dizzying urge to bring up his lunch. _Fucking idiot. You should’ve at least ate something to go along with your alcohol binge. Hell, you shouldn’t have been drinking in the first place. You never fucking learn._

Bucky reached for a container of pain-killers on his nightstand, and swallowed a handful dry. He counted down in his head from a thousand, breathing in and out each time, clutching his head in a vice grip.

By the time he got to four-hundred seventy-eight, the sick feeling began to pass.

_What do I need?_ he thought, his brain still throbbing against his skull. _Coffee. Food. Shower._ If only he could do them all at one time.

Bucky settled for a shower first. He couldn’t continue in damp clothes, the smell was making him queasy. Prior to stepping in, he took a moment to chug a bottle of mouthwash, rinsing out the nasty after-taste. He adjusted the water temperature to cool, and it was like heaven itself spraying down on him.    

After drying off, he changed into a clean pair of sweatpants and an old boxing t-shirt. The sun streamed high and bright from the windows as he trudged into the kitchen. According to the digital clock on his holo-screen, it was a quarter past nine.

Bucky had just snapped a pod into his coffee maker, when a loud thump came from outside his door. He was positive the force had been strong enough to shake the building. He paused the device and went to investigate.

A visitor? Slim chance, especially this early in the morning. His mail was delivered through the letterbox downstairs like the other apartment owners. He didn’t remember buying anything online recently.

Bucky unlocked and opened the door, stepping out into the hallway. He didn’t get far.

“What the...”

Blocking his path was an enormous refrigerator-sized cardboard box covered in “fragile” stickers. It leaned precariously against the door frame as if the weight inside caused it to tip over, which Bucky figured the noise came from.

He looked left, then right along the corridor, hoping to catch someone who’d come out giggling. Not a soul was in sight.

With few other options, he grabbed the box around the middle. At once he could tell he wouldn’t be able to deadlift it off the ground. His entire concentration was needed just to hold it up, and he had no choice but to drag it into his apartment.

Bucky barely made it to the living room before having to drop the box, panting hard. While pondering how many people it took to deliver it up five flights of stairs, he kneeled to get a better look.

Printed on the front was a stylized eagle encased in a circle with the word “SHIELD” underneath. Bucky had heard the company name. SHIELD was a longtime client to Carter Pharmaceuticals, and he’d glanced at their paperwork on several occasions. He gathered they were in some kind of tech field, and from the weight of the box, something that demanded body builders.

On the side, protected by a plastic cover, Bucky found the order sheet. He ripped it off. “‘SHIELD order number...placed July third...at 23:45 PM’, the fuck? That’s fast. ‘Grand Total...’” He blinked. He reread the cost, and reread it seven more times. His grip on the paper loosened, letting it float to the ground.

Bucky knew he wasn’t having a heart attack, but he sure felt like he was.

He scrambled to the couch where he left his phone, pulling up his bank app. His fears were realized when he saw the same large figure in his recent purchases summary.

_Okay, calm down_ . He let out a breath. _Some jackass stole my credit number, and sent this as a joke. Has to be. Unless..._

Flashes of the previous night flooded back to him: he’d blacked out, there were feelings of loneliness, he’d made a couple Google searches on his phone, and ultimately of hitting a confirmation button.

“Fuck!” Bucky gave the box a kick. This was a new low. Now his subconscious was going on spending sprees.

_It’s fine, it’s fine, you can deal with this. Just return the...whatever it is and get your credit straightened out. Easy fix, over and done with._

Despite not having consented to the purchase, he couldn’t deny being curious about “whatever” he had bought. He picked the order sheet off the floor. “‘Captain Rogers Model S040718 / 987654320’.” The name sounded vague. From the size of the box, it could be a sound system or bookshelf for all he knew.

Bucky began to peel off the thick tape. If he was going to send it back to SHIELD anyway, he might as well see it for himself.

Upon opening the front flaps, a sea of paper and styrofoam pellets obscured what laid inside. He dug through it, the wrapping almost coming up to his elbows, when he felt something solid.

Bucky grasped the underside to pull it up to no avail, the item sealed in tight. He removed more of the pellets, and used both hands to wriggle it free.

“C’mon, c’mon...a little more...there!”

He’d used too much force. The box flipped over on its side, sending the wrapping materials spilling and his purchase slamming on top of him.

Bucky’s first thought was, _A dead body_ . His second thought was, _A naked dead body_.

He couldn’t help shrieking. He pulled himself out from under the stocky figure, flipping it face up, and shuffled backwards in a crab walk. “I bought a fucking corpse?”

For being dead, the figure was awfully good looking. Its physique was tall and powerful, the curve of muscles at every angle. Short blond hair framed a model-pretty face. The eyes were closed, the expression serene, as if they were only sleeping. And from the quick glimpse Bucky got before backing away, they were exceptionally well endowed between the legs and undoubtedly male.

“Why...how?” Bucky’s mind raced, his breathing picking up. He had to call somebody about this. Sam? He would just burst into laughter. The police, maybe? How would Bucky explain “accidently” buying from human traffickers?

He had thought up his fifth possible excuse when he spied a book on the floor beside him with the SHIELD logo. Bucky snatched it up to the title page. “‘Thank you for purchasing SHIELD’s ninth generation persocom, Captain series.’”

by [frau-argh](https://frau-argh.tumblr.com)

A persocom. It was only a machine. Bucky sighed. He could have keeled over, he was so relieved. Never in a million years would he think he’d be desperate, or drunk, enough to buy a persocom himself.

Bucky came back to face his new computer, putting the manual aside. On closer inspection, he saw a tattoo of a blue star inside two rings on his right shoulder. Likely his brand, made sense for a “Captain”.

_The new ones really do look human_ , Bucky mused, keeping his eyes above the torso. _If the manual didn’t say he was all hardware, you’d think he was the real thing. No, he’s too beautiful to be real. This kind of human doesn’t exist._

He stroked the persocom’s cold cheek. _They’re soft, too..._ A blush crept across his face.

Bucky snatched his hand away. “Stop that,” he scolded himself. “Don’t get hypnotized. You’re returning him, and that’s final.”

He needed to get him back in the box, the sooner the better. Bucky leaned over the persocom to grasp him by the sides. He’d have to roll him over, there wasn’t a chance in hell Bucky was carrying him.

His left hand paused to linger above the persocom’s wrist. A thought occurred to him, _I already took him out, I might as well test if..._

Persocoms could normally be booted up by its owner holding its hand. But that relied on detecting body heat.

_Just an experiment. Nothing’s gonna happen, anyway._ Bucky squeezed their fingers together, and closed his eyes, ready for the disappointment to follow.

To his surprise, it didn’t come. The persocom’s fingers squeezed his in return. Warmth spread throughout the persocom like a heater.

_I’m not sober enough for this, I’m still asleep. I’m dreaming, this is a dream._

Bucky opened his eyes in time to watch the persocom do the same. A pair of clear crystal blues looked up at him.

“Holy shit.”

Not letting go of Bucky’s hand, the persocom sat up. He smiled, and spoke, “Good morning, sir.” Even his voice had a comforting tinge. “Today is Saturday, July fourth, nine fifty-two AM.”

“Um, hi.” Bucky tried to release his grip, but the persocom wouldn’t budge.

The machine moved in closer to Bucky with the look of utter fascination, like he was taking in his new owner. His free hand slowly extended toward him, and rested on his cheek. His thumb brushed Bucky’s lips.

“Hey...” The heat was rising in Bucky’s face again. He inched away. “That’s not—”

The pieces of scattered styrofoam betrayed him. In his hurry to evade the persocom, Bucky slipped on the pellets causing him to crash to the ground, dragging the persocom with him.

“Fuckin’...gotta clean this up.” Bucky grumbled. “You’re heavy.”

The persocom’s intrigued expression didn’t change. “Are you in pain?”

“No.” Bucky sighed. “That’s the last time you’re falling on top of me, though.” He pushed the persocom’s shoulder. “Off me.”

The persocom’s brows knitted. “Now?”

Bucky gave him a scowl. “Yes, now. I’d appreciate that very much.”

“All right.” Instead of maneuvering to the side, the persocom stayed right where he was. His lips pressed down on Bucky’s.

The shock of being kissed distracted Bucky enough to allow the persocom to slide under the hem of his sweatpants. Bucky yelped at the touch. The persocom was really meaning to...

Adrenaline kicking in, Bucky yanked his left hand free, and kneed the persocom in the chest, breaking the kiss. “Stop!” He gasped for air, turning his head in a fit of coughs. “Get...off of me!”

This time the persocom listened. He paced across the room from Bucky, and kneeled to the floor, his back straight. He bowed his head. “I’m sorry. I mistook your command. I won’t let it happen again.”

Bucky sat up, staring open-mouthed at the machine and catching his breath. What kind of jacked-up CPU did this thing have? “How did you take that for me asking you to jerk me off?”

The persocom’s face fell in confusion. “That’s what I was programmed to do. One of my modes of operation is to satisfy my owner by—”

“Okay, okay, Jesus,” Bucky cut him off. “You’re not touching me again unless I say so. That precise enough?”

“Yes. Not even to hug?”

“A hug?” Bucky was thrown by the question. “No, not even that.”

The persocom nodded. “I understand, sir.”

“Good.” Seeing the kneeling naked form of a man, it finally registered to Bucky how absurd the situation he’d gotten himself into was. Flushing, he turned to the mounds of dispersed wrapping paper. “Did you come with any clothes?”

“Yes, all persocoms starting with the third generation arrive with a full set of clothing.”

“Any reason you came au naturel?”

The persocom hesitated to answer, frowning and looking to the side.

“Never mind. Ah, here.” Bucky uncovered a folded white t-shirt with the SHIELD logo, and tore off the packaging. He tossed it to the persocom. “Put this on.”

“Oh, thank you very much.” The persocom smiled.

“Pants have got to be around somewhere. How about you keep searching while I make a call?”

Bucky grabbed the manual off the floor, flipping to the company information. As soon as he found SHIELD’s tech support number, he went straight to the holo-screen on his kitchen table and punched in the digits. “Stay over there, okay?” he called, waving his hand in a shooing motion as he sat down. “I have to concentrate on this.”

The persocom tugged the shirt over his head. “Yes, sir.”

Bucky drummed his fingers on the counter as the dialling sound droned. He jumped when he heard a recorded voice start talking. “Thank you for calling the SHIELD Help Center. This call may be monitored for teaching purposes. For account inquiries, including orders and payment, press ‘1’. For questions concerning product statistics or catalog, press ‘2’. To report any recent or ongoing errors or malfunctions, press ‘3’. To speak directly to a representative, press ‘4’.”

A screen listing all the choices arose from the device. Bucky’s pointer finger hovered between “1” and “3”, but keyed in option “4”.

“Thank you,” the voice said, as the screen collapsed. “Someone will assist you shortly.”

A maddening call waiting jingle looped five times before the image of a woman sprang up. Her hair was dark and cropped short, and she wore a cordless headset. “Good morning, my name is Maria, thank you for calling the SHIELD Help Center. May I have your name and account ID, please?” she recited.

“My name is James Barnes. Account ID...” Bucky faltered.

“What’s your email, sir?” Maria asked, not missing a beat.

“JBBarnes, underscore, 1917 at Gmail dot com.” Bucky watched her gaze shift as she typed it in.

“Yes, you are in the system, just added last night. Username HowlingCommando02?”

“Uh, sure.”

“Having trouble so soon?”

“Not trouble, exactly.”

“Are you a first-time persocom owner?” Maria looked along her side of the screen. “You purchased a Captain Rogers variant.” She grinned. “Excellent choice. They’re one of our best-sellers, perfect for newcomers.”

“Yeah, about that. I have a couple questions about the body structure.”

“What about it? Any damage during shipping?”

“No, there’s...” Bucky cleared his throat. “There’s just something...added to it that’s confusing me.”

“‘Added’? Do you mean...oh.” Maria’s eyes widened. “Yeah, now I see it.” The corner of her lip curled, fighting back a snicker. She pointed to her left. “Look behind you.”

Bucky did, and for the second time that day felt a heart attack was upon him.

The persocom had wandered into the background of the screen window frame, holding a pair of unwrapped pants, bare from the waist down. “Sir?” He tilted his head.

by [comedicdrama](https://comedicdrama.tumblr.com)

“Get out of here!” Bucky flew up from his seat. He pushed the persocom out of the kitchen and into the living room, shoving him down on the couch. “I told you not to leave this spot.”

“I’m sorry,” the persocom said innocently. “I thought you might need some help answering SHIELD. I have your account installed on my memory.”

“Did I say I needed help? Don’t stand up until I’m done with my call. Got it?”

“Clear, sir.”

Bucky went back to the holo-screen, attempting to keep an air of calm. “Sorry about that.”

“No problem.” Maria laughed. “I’ve seen much worse, believe me. You have no idea what goes on around here during the artificial skin process.”

“Why make them anatomically correct at all?” Bucky blurted out. “Is this a default? Do all persocoms have junk now, is that just a thing I never knew about?”

Maria gaped at him. “That’s...That’s one of the first options on the order form. ‘Feminine Model’ or ‘Male Model’, then ‘Accurate Anatomy, check yes or no’. Did you even skim what you were paying for?”

“No, I was blackout drunk at the time” didn’t seem like an appropriate answer. “No, I didn’t.”

“It’s a choice for the owner. Some want strictly a machine and user relationship. Some people like to use their persocoms for more than what they were intended.” She stopped, looking over the confused Bucky. “We don’t judge here.”

Bucky’s face burned. “I never thought of using it like that! He shipped to me naked, I haven’t done anything to him.”

“Of course, Mr. Barnes.” Maria shook her head. “That’s an option too, whether they come fully clothed or not.”

“I was...never mind that. I want to know why the hell he’s all over me?” Bucky said, urgent to change the subject. “He told me he wanted to hug me, and he’s not listening to what I tell him.”

“Seems like you picked an extreme side of ‘Enthusiasm’ or ‘Loyalty’.”

“They don’t all behave like that?”

“No,” Maria said flatly. “Persocoms have customizable personality levels. They can ship with the default settings. You would have chosen to give him those parameters. Were you really the one who ordered him?”

“I can just delete that part, right?” Bucky glanced at the couch. The persocom hadn’t moved, staring off into space, and still holding the pants. “It’s just a machine.”

“You can. Connect to a monitor with the provided cables and select what you want to change manually,” Maria said. “Any other hangups with your persocom, sir?”

“Yeah, I...Wait.” Bucky had gotten so preoccupied with coming up with cover stories and defending himself that he’d forgotten why he’d even called SHIELD. “A return. I need to return him.”

“Is his misbehaving that much of a problem?”

“The problem is that I never wanted him in the first place. I want a refund.”

Maria was unfazed by his comment. “Monthly installment plans are available to those on a budget. I can reconfigure your payment.”

“My order was a mistake. All I want is to ship him to you and get my money back.”

“And the condition of the model is...”

“Perfect. You saw him yourself, I haven’t touched him,” Bucky assured her. “If anything, he’s been the one that’s been touching me.”

Maria smiled slyly. “So he has been touching you?”

“You know what I mean,” Bucky replied, not rising to her bait. “Not a fan of customer etiquette, are you? Should your manager and I have a chat?”

“Forgive my slip of courtesy,” Maria said. “Bottom line is you can’t return him.”

Bucky felt a wave of nausea wash over him. “And why the hell is that? I only took him out of the box, he’s still in one piece. I can turn him off, you can clean out his drive.”

Maria clapped her hands together. “Here’s the issue. Unless the persocom has arrived previously damaged either by us or en route, an immediate return can’t be made. A stipulation of two days is enforced to assess whether the persocom and the user are the right fit. Then a refund claim can be submitted anytime after that within sixty days.”

Bucky blanched. “Are you serious?”

“’Fraid so.” Maria held up a screen between her index fingers that contained a giant block of text. “‘SHIELD takes pride in the quality of our designs, and we want our customers to have the proper time to appreciate them’. This is straight from the licensing agreement. Bet you actually read over it for once before blindly checking ‘yes’ to it, huh?”

Bucky couldn’t find the words as he stared dumbly at the text screen. “So I’m stuck with him for two days.”

“Look on the bright side, maybe next time you’ll think longer before making an impulse buy.”

Bucky glared. “Expect a refund claim from me by Monday.”

“Might not be the one taking it. I’m on vacation starting next week,” Maria said. She rested her chin on her palm. “Any other questions for today?”

“No. Thank you.”  

She smiled. “Thank you for calling the SHIELD Help Center. Have a pleasant holiday weekend!”

The holo-screen dissipated with a click.

Bucky dragged a hand down his face, letting out a long sigh as he slumped in his chair. Anticipating that night was going to be rough enough. Now he had to put up with an obnoxious persocom.

_Only today and tomorrow, and he’s out of your life_ , Bucky told himself. _You’ve been through worse messes. He’ll be gone, and your bank account won’t be drowning in debt._

He wished he could stay in that seat forever, not having to deal with the issue at large, but eventually he stood and went back to the couch.

The persocom’s blank expression perked up as soon as Bucky came over to him. He grinned his wide, sunny grin. “How did your call go, sir?”

“Not that good.” Bucky crossed his arms, looking down at the half-clothed machine. “You can put the pants on now.”

“I found undergarments, too,” the persocom said, holding up a pair of dark blue trunks. “Am I authorized to put these on as well?”

Bucky groaned, and massaged his temple. “Yeah, go for it.”

The persocom nodded. “Yes, sir.”

Bucky turned away to the wall, hiding his reddening face as the persocom pulled on the trunks. “Are you going to ask me permission for everything you do?”

“I will.” The persocom rose to straighten his pants. “I violated your consent earlier today. From now on, I won’t act unless you tell me so directly. Especially acts of the sensual nature.” He sat back down, his hands folded in his lap. “I was made to improve your life sir, not make it more difficult.”

“‘Improve my life’, huh?” Bucky took a seat on the other end of the couch, aiming to keep some distance between them. “First of all: don’t call me ‘sir’. It’s really creepy.”

“Should I call you ‘James’?”

Bucky cringed. “How do you know my...oh yeah, you have my account stuff already.”

“What would you like me to call you? ‘Master’?” The persocom leaned forward, his eyes attentive.

“Hell, no. Just call me ‘Bucky’.”

“Okay, Bucky.” The persocom pointed to himself. “And what would you like to call me?”

It wasn’t an outlandish request. Bucky’s co-workers all had pet names for their persocoms, like “Fay”, and “Rocket”. It would be odd to continue calling him “persocom”.

“Hmm.” The name came to Bucky without thinking, one he used to say in fondness long ago. “Steve.”

“‘Steve’. You’re Bucky, and I’m Steve.” The persocom looked as if he might explode into a giddy dance. His arms started to reach out to Bucky, then were swiftly lowered, dialing back his joy. “Thank you, Bucky! It’s a pleasure to meet you. I promise to serve you well.”

Regret for naming him seeped into Bucky. _You idiot, that’s how people get attached to things. And that name is..._ He shook his head. “Don’t get used to it. You’re gone in two days.”

“I understand.” Steve’s grin remained, but faded by a few degrees. “May I know why?”

Bucky sunk deeper into the cushions, peeking at Steve from the corner of his eye. “It’s nothing personal. Like I said before, buying you was just a mistake.”

“Oh.” Steve blinked. “Is it that you’re not attracted to men?”

“No, I’m...” Bucky gulped. “I mean, yes, I do like guys. That’s not the point.” He sighed, in disbelief he was having this conversation with a machine. “I like being alone. I prefer it. If I wanted company, I’d buy a dog.” He faced Steve, and tilted his head. “Though you are kind of giving me golden retriever vibes.”

Steve cocked his head too, copying him. “I’m like a dog?”

“In the clingy, annoying way. Guess it’s my fault, according to that SHIELD rep, since I fucked up your personality data.”

“You’re more than welcome to adjust it to your liking.” Steve picked up a set of cables from the floor and held them out to him.

Bucky looked at the cables, then back to Steve. “You’re okay with being changed?” He imagined there would be more resistance from him.

“Of course. If our time together is less of a burden to you, then I’d be happy to do it, Bucky.” He smiled warmly.

_Sure. Your programming tells you to be happy._ Bucky stared at the cables a few moments more, and finally grabbed them from Steve. “Fine.” He twirled the end of a USB. “Would you have an idea where to...”

Steve laughed. “Where to plug them in?” On his right wrist, he lifted a swatch of skin to reveal the tiny holes of a cable port. He showed it to Bucky. “The white cord connects here.” He craned his neck for Bucky to see a similar row of ports under a swatch on his nape. “The gray and red connect back here.”

“Sounds easy enough.” Bucky followed his instructions, snapping the white one into Steve’s wrist.

He stood and moved behind Steve with the remaining cables. “So if you know my name and address, could I assume you know everything else about me?” He spun the gray one into place.

“What do you mean?” Steve asked.

“Never owned a persocom prior to you, but I know you guys have free access online, right?”

“That’s correct.”

Bucky started to snap in the red. “I’m not big on social media, but I made the current events a few years back. A Google search of my name is all it takes.”

“I have only the basic software updates installed, like the calendar, and weather. I can’t access any further data unless you authorize me to.”

“Huh.” Bucky stepped away to his bedroom, and returned to the couch with his laptop in tow. He held up the ends of the cords. “And I can just plug them in this?”

Steve smiled, and nodded. “Exactly, Bucky. SHIELD technology is made to be accessible through all other brands, no matter how old. Even a third generation Samsung model should be appropriate.”

“Wow, thanks SHIELD,” Bucky said, and rolled his eyes.

As soon as he found the right ports, clicking them in, the desktop cut to a black screen. “What the hell happened?”

He looked to Steve, whose eyes had become half-lidded. Bucky noticed that his irises had changed from a bright blue to a dull navy. “Don’t worry,” he replied, his voice monotone. “The OS data specs will appear shortly.”

Just as Steve said, columns of text filled up the screen. Bucky scrolled along it, picking up the intricacies of Steve’s exact make, the date and time he’d been created, most of it long and rambling computer jargon.

When he got near the bottom of the spec sheet, he found a highlighted section titled “Parameters”. Clicking it led to a new page of bar and line graphs, preceded by a previously filled in questionnaire.

Bucky grinned. “Bingo.”

He turned to Steve again. The persocom’s eyes had closed, his shoulders slumped.

Bucky jostled his arm. “Hey, you awake?”

“Preparing for data deletion,” Steve answered. “Restart system upon alteration.”

_He’s really serious,_ Bucky thought. _Well, yeah, I let him know I wanted to change him. He’s letting me._ He shifted his focus back to his laptop. _Persocoms don’t have a will of their own. They can’t control how they feel. Programming. That’s it._

Bucky browsed through the preferences he’d drunkenly selected the night before. He groaned upon seeing the choice of “Accurate Anatomy” only three questions down from the top, and “Clothed for Arrival” directly after. “Son of a bitch. Maria was right.”

Personality meters were all over the place. “Loyalty” was absurdly high, as were “Honesty” and “Affection”. To contrast that, “Obedience” had taken a dip, as did “Aggression”. Bucky pondered how Steve wasn’t bouncing off the walls from the outrageous “Enthusiasm” meter he’d assigned him.

No use of dwelling on it, though. In a matter of minutes, Steve would be less of an energetic golden retriever and more like the machine he actually was.

Bucky’s mouse cursor lingered over “Enthusiasm”, clicked, but didn’t move. _C’mon_ , he urged himself. _It’s not like he’ll remember this. He’s a persocom, his memories don’t matter. Clean slate, clean..._

He broke his gaze from the screen, and made the fatal mistake of peering at Steve again. The persocom’s face was as peaceful as the time before Bucky switched him on. Steve, who only wanted to “improve his life”. He’d made several mortifying errors of judgement in the short time he’d been active, sure, but he recognized those errors. He wanted to do better. It was only two days.

“God damn it.” Bucky shut the laptop closed. He yanked out the cords from it, and set it on the coffee table.

Making an effort not to look at Steve again, lest his mind become even more muddled, Bucky rose from the couch and went to the kitchen. He switched on his neglected coffee maker, shoving a mug beneath it. He stared at it fixedly until the device let out a cheerful beep, with the mug full to capacity. Ignoring the fiery touch of the ceramic, Bucky consumed the coffee in four gulps, and slammed the cup on the counter. He breathed, letting the caffeine work its magic into his system and purge the roller coaster of a morning he just experienced.

By the time Bucky felt ready for a second round, he heard the creaking springs of the couch cushions. “Failure to restart.” Steve’s eyes had gone back to their usual blue. “Bucky, you didn’t modify me?”

Bucky drank more coffee before he told him, “Nope. Changed my mind.” He took another sip. “For now.”

Steve only smiled in return.

Bucky fought against the warmth growing in his cheeks, placing the fault on his coffee. “You’ll listen to me from now on? No taking things literally, no touching?”

“Unless you say so?”

“That’s right.”

“I won’t do a thing until you give me an order.” Steve held up his palm, as if swearing before a jury. “I promise.”

“Okay. Because one more slip up and your drive is scrubbed.” Bucky hoped the harshness of his threat masked how little confidence he had in enforcing it.

“Whatever you say.” Steve held his gaze on Bucky. “It’s almost eleven AM, have you eaten today yet?”

“I was—” The persistent growling of his stomach interrupted him. “Getting to that,” Bucky finished, holding his middle, and facing away toward his cabinets. “Another thing: keep any suggestions for me to yourself. If you really want to help, keep your mouth shut about how I live.” He set down his mug, and retrieved a half empty bag of bread from the highest shelf.

“Of course,” Steve said, frowning a bit. “Would you like me to not talk to you at all?”

Bucky should have told him “yes” immediately, but he didn’t. Instead he busied himself with making some toast. He pulled out two slices of bread from the bag, re-tied it, and put it back in its place.

_What an easy solution that would be._ _It’d be like he wasn’t even there._ He next took out a tub of margarine from his fridge, setting it on his counter and sliding the bread in the toaster.

Steve watched him all the while, not saying a word. He nodded, like he had taken Bucky’s silence as his response.

Bucky stole a glance at Steve as the steaming bread popped up. _Oh, fuck, he looks sad._ He lifted one of the slices out with his left hand. He grabbed a knife from the counter and lathered margarine on the toast. _‘Looks’ sad. His emotions aren’t real...Damn it._

“You don’t... all right, fine, you can talk to me if you really want to.”

Steve’s face lit up. “Thank you. No advice for now. Would questions about you be acceptable?”  

“I guess.” Bucky chewed on the toast, and swallowed. “Only if I approve of it, though. If not, then you drop it.”

Steve nodded. “Certainly. You can ask me anything you desire, as well.”

“Uh huh.” Bucky took another bite. “You don’t need special computer food, do you?”

“No, I don't. Since the second generation, persocoms were designed to be solar powered. I can also be charged with my connector cords through your laptop or another outlet.”

“Neat.” Bucky finished eating the toast, wiping crumbs from his shirt, and went to coat the next piece in margarine.

“May I...ask about your prosthetic?” Steve asked carefully.

Bucky kept his back to him, pausing to stare at the knife in his right hand. “Happened two years ago, in the army.” He tossed the knife in the sink. “That’s all I’m saying.”

“There are model arms available that imitate human flesh,” Steve said. “They’re lightweight, and very convenient. As a veteran, you could apply for—”

“Maybe some people can’t afford the upkeep costs, even with the discount. Maybe some people could barely make the payment for the third-rate version.” Bucky glowered at him.

“I’m sorry. That was rude of me.” Steve lowered his eyes to the floor. “You said no suggestions. I’ll shut up.”

The room remained quiet as Bucky polished off the rest of his toast. He stuck his mug under the coffee maker for the third time, exchanged the spent pod with a fresh one, and restarted the machine.

_You had to go fucking soft. Not too late, you could still fix this. Memory wipe him._

“Is there anything you’d like me to do?” Steve asked.

Bucky picked up the filled cup. “Just stay there. Don’t move. Leave me the fuck alone.”

He knew he couldn’t fret over this persocom’s synthetic feelings. He had his own to worry about. Tonight was the fourth of July, and he had work to do.

* * *

The afternoon flew by, quickly fading into night. For a majority of it, Bucky was wrapped in a panic-filled state. Like last year he was nowhere near prepared, the date sneaking up on him without warning, which made him sick to his core that he’d be repeating that agony. He either paced throughout his living room, arms crossed in thought, or searched on his phone: “can bedsheets block sound”, “can a mattress block sound”, “prevent flashback symptoms”, “alleviating flashback symptoms”. _If only I’d gone to the hardware store yesterday when it was open,_ he thought ruefully, _I could’ve boarded up the windows._

The rest of the day, Bucky made the effort to keep calm. He tried to meditate, seek inner peace, and for brief moments it would work. It would come crashing down the next moment when the image of bodies in the snow flashed in his mind.

Sometime during his frenzy, Bucky remembered he had to contact Sam. He called on the holo-screen, making sure Steve was not in the frame. He reassured his friend that he’d be fine on his own, and even attempted a grin.

“Okay Buck, be safe,” Sam replied, his frown conveying that he didn’t buy Bucky’s claim. “Seriously, call me if it gets too bad. It starts at eight-thirty tonight.”

Now it was already past eight. Bucky sat up against his headboard, his legs tucked into his chest, a thick blanket thrown over him. All the lights in the apartment were still on. His bedroom door was shut, a towel stuffed under it, and the windows were closed tight with the curtains drawn. He felt as ready as he could be with the circumstances.

His thoughts drifted back to Steve, still left on the couch. Bucky hadn’t heard a peep out of him after he’d told Steve to leave him alone. He couldn’t deny the twinge of guilt for snapping at the persocom, but in the end it was for the best. Steve needed to learn to obey his orders. They couldn’t get close.

It dawned on him then. Bucky had forgotten something. His CD player. It wasn’t on his nightstand. He’d left it in the living room. In the haze of last night, he remembered The Smiths playing. The noticeable wear on the outdated player always brought a sentimental comfort to him. With it, he could tune out the real world.

Even if he ran out now, he’d be taking a risk. Bucky started to weigh the pros and cons, when he realized making the decision was only eating up more time. _I need it back. It’s not far._

Bucky sprang from his bed, and threw open the door into the living room. “Fuck, fuck, where is it?”

Steve gawked at him, concerned, not speaking, but looking like he wanted to.

Bucky dove behind the television, tore into the couch, lifted his armchair. At last, in the small space beneath the coffee table, he found the scratched silver case and the knotted headphones.

“Thank god.” Bucky smiled, getting to his knees. He didn’t have the chance to stand.

The room engulfed in darkness. Bucky’s CD player clattered to the floor. From above and below, he could hear muffled shrieks and stumbling. The blackout must have been building-wide.

Bucky was frozen. He couldn’t see anything. The most he could move were his twitching hands. His entire body was shaking. _It’s happening, it’s happening, relax, relax, relax. Breathe._

He inhaled a lungful of air, had trouble letting in out, choked. The hardwood under him felt like it was shuddering, like it would collapse at any second. His heart pounded his ears. _No, no, not now. Please, not now._

A loud crack splintered outside. Red light illuminated on the curtains.

Bucky dove to the ground. He covered his ears.

Fireworks had been commercially banned in New York for decades. The exception being for a national holiday, like Independence Day.

Bucky shook his head. He squeezed his eyes shut. Another loud crack.

Prospect Park had one of the few permits to fire them off legally, just a few miles from his complex.

_No, no, you’re safe, you’re okay._ Bucky’s forehead pressed against the floor. Maybe if he pressed hard enough, he’d fall through, he could escape. _Listen, you’re home. There’s no danger. There’s...I can’t._

Bursts crashed beyond his window. Red and blue sparks danced in the sky.

A tremor wracked him.

“Bucky.” Steve was sitting in front of him.

“Not...now.” Bucky winced at a series of rapid fire explosions.

“Do you have any medication to take?”

“No.”

“What can I do?”

“Y-You can,” Bucky’s breath hitched, “you can...w-where are we now?”

“We are in Brooklyn, New York City, in your apartment. It is July fourth, eight thirty-four PM,” Steve said, his voice tender. “You can get through this. It’s going to pass.”

“No, it’s not.”

“It will pass. You’re doing so well. I’m proud of you”

A sob caught in Bucky’s throat. “Can’t...do this.”

“Just breathe. You can breathe,” Steve said. “You’ve beaten this.”

“Uh uh.” Tears ran down Bucky’s face. He gasped. “I’m scared.”

“Bucky, can I touch you?”

Bucky blinked up at the outline of the persocom, backlit by a red and blue glow. “...Yes.”

Steve wasted no time. He pulled Bucky off the ground toward him.

Even with his approval, Bucky still perceived the sudden movement as hostile. He batted Steve away, managed to land a punch on Steve’s cheek. “W-Wait, wait...”

“It’s okay.” Steve took hold of Bucky’s wrists. He paused to let Bucky calm down. “It’s okay.”

With his breathing and heart rate slower, and his fingers uncurled from his fists, Bucky nodded for Steve to go on.

Steve wrapped him in his arms. “You’re safe. I’m right here.” He gently stroked his hair. “I won’t let anything happen to you.”

In that moment, Bucky believed him. Against Steve’s chest felt warm, safe, safer than he’d ever been. Normally he couldn’t handle being hugged, it was like being trapped, but somehow Steve was different.

The last of the fireworks plummeted outside, their sound muted to Bucky, and then silence resumed in the black star-studded sky.

“How are you feeling?” Steve asked him.

Bucky’s eyelids drooped as he held onto Steve’s shirt, completely drained. He didn’t want to withdraw from that embrace. “Sleepy...”

“So sleep, I’ll be here.”

“Don’t leave.” Bucky’s eyes slid closed. “Stay with me?”

“Of course,” Steve said.

“Thank you,” Bucky’s body went limp in his arms, “...Steve.”

Steve smiled, and laced his fingers with Bucky’s. At that small confirmation of his name, something inside Steve changed. He couldn’t make sense of it. It wasn’t a virus, or an update exactly. He felt like he wanted to do more than just protect his owner. He wanted something else, something deeper.

Steve gripped Bucky’s hand tighter. “To the end of the line.”

by [10ftalice](https://10ftalice.tumblr.com)


	2. \UPLOADING FILES

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bucky has to make a decision: to return Steve to SHIELD, or let him stay.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Betaed by the stupendous [Romance](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Rad_Loser_Weenie.com)!

Bucky was floating, drifting away in a comforting darkness. The ground beneath him was soft and puffy, like a cloud pulling him through space. A thought came to him, _You’re asleep._

His vision swam into focus as he opened his eyes. Indeed the ground was soft: he was lying on the couch with a blanket draped over him. In front of him, Steve was on the floor cross-legged and facing opposite the couch. Bucky sat up on his elbow. “Steve?”

Steve spun around, getting on his knees. “Bucky! Good morning. How are you feeling?”

“Better,” Bucky said, and rubbed his watery eyes. “Still kinda groggy.”

“No after effects, no headaches or shortness of breath?”

“Don’t think so.”

“Good.” Steve smiled. “I’m glad.”

Bucky’s mind tried to replay last night’s events. “Were you...with me the whole night?”

“I was,” Steve answered. “You asked me to stay before you passed out. I didn’t want to disrupt your bedroom, so I set you down here. I hope I made the correct decision?”

“Oh. That’s fine.” Yes, Bucky did remember that, Steve having to calm him down like a fucking baby. How pathetic of him. He chuckled. “You caught me in a bad place. Sorry about—”

“Please don’t apologize for that.” Steve cupped his face. “Have you been told your panic attacks were burdensome?”

Bucky stared back at him, briefly lost on what to say. Steve’s hands were firm, but at the same time gentle. “No.”

“Don’t ever be ashamed for having triggers. It’s not your fault. It’s not a sign of weakness.”

“Yeah, I know...” Bucky trailed off. He’d been told that line so many times, by so many doctors, yet it was this machine that sounded sincere.

At once, Steve released his hold on him. “Forgive me.” He turned back to the wall. “You gave me permission, but I shouldn’t have assumed it would carry to the next day.” His gaze lowered. “In truth, I should be the one apologizing. I should have mentioned this immediately...I hurt you again.”

“Hurt me? Like, physically?” Bucky couldn’t conjure where. Though a little stiff, no part of him felt painful.

“Your wrists.”

Bucky inspected them. Around his right wrist was a ring of faint bruising. Around his left wrist was a shallow dent. He’d gotten worse injuries carrying office supplies at Carter Pharmaceuticals. “This was when you grabbed me? Because I clocked you in the face, didn’t I?”

“There isn’t an excuse for this. Persocoms should never harm their owner.” Steve was shaking a bit. “All I’ve done since I’ve arrived is hurt you. I don’t blame you for wanting to exchange me.”

“It’s not...aw, shit.” Bucky balked at the thought of having to console him. He reached out his left arm for Steve to see. “Look, I can move it just dandy. I’ve banged myself up worse.”

Steve turned to him, puzzled. “You’re not mad?”

Bucky sighed. “I know that you were only trying to help me. It was a heated moment. Let’s move on.”

A heated moment, right, that was how to put it. That way he could rationalize his unstable emotions, and why Steve felt so soothing at the time. Bucky needed comfort, and Steve was programed to handle and say things to alleviate the situation.  

“I’m so sorry.”

“And I forgive you.” Bucky patted Steve on the shoulder. “You did good.”

Steve grinned, and leaned into his touch. “Thank you, Bucky.”

_Jesus Christ, what am I doing?_ Bucky retracted his hand, and smiled weakly. _He really is a dog._

“Oh yes, there was another thing I needed to mention about last night,” Steve said. “Your compact disc player.” He took it off the coffee table in front of him, and presented it Bucky. The lid had popped open revealing that the CD inside had come off its spindle.

Bucky’s heart sank. “Oh, fuck, don’t tell me it’s...” He snapped the CD in properly, closed the lid, and inserted the headphones. He took a deep breath, prayed for a miracle. Then he switched it on and waited. Bucky exhaled as he heard an echoey chorus start singing “Take Me Back to Dear Old Blighty”. _Whew. Still worked._

“It must be special to you,” Steve commented. “Portable music players like that haven’t been widely used for decades.” His face fell. “Excuse me.”

Bucky took the headphones out. “It was from a friend of mine when we were kids. He shares your name. Shared.” He wrapped the headphone cord around the player, and set it on the coffee table. “Steve.”

He went quiet, pushing memories back in their closet. “Anyway, I should see if my mechanic would do me a fix. What time is it?” He got up from the couch to find his cell phone.

“It is now nine oh-five AM on Sunday, July fifth,” Steve replied.

“Eh, kinda early, but I’ll try.” After Bucky dialed, he held the phone at arm's length. He still almost dropped it from the booming voice on the other end.

“Wiener Soldier! Good mornin’, sunshine. Long time, no talk.”

“Mornin’, Tony,” Bucky said, bringing the phone to his ear. “How’s the shop?”

“Business as usual. Just doing some tinkering now.” In the background, Bucky could hear whirring saws and sparks fizzing. “Why the call? Need a tune up?”

“Little mishap yesterday. I can move it fine, there’s just a bump in my wrist.” He noticed Steve avert his eyes and bite his lip when he said it.

“Partied hard last night? Me, too!” Tony exclaimed. “The Manhattan skyline is phenomenal this time of year.”

“Sure. Could you pencil me in today, maybe? You know how these go, if they’re not fixed soon, the whole prosthetic starts breaking down.”

“It is my day off, it’ll cost you extra.”

“Doesn’t it always?”

Tony laughed. “That, it does. Stop by around eleven. You can let yourself in. And don’t fucking sneak up behind me like last time.”

“Thanks a lot. See ya later.” Bucky ended the call.

Steve stood from the floor, and watched Bucky go into the kitchen. “You’ll be going out today?”

“Pretty soon.” Bucky booted up his coffee machine.

“If it wouldn’t be any trouble, may I join you?” Steve asked. “I’m at fault for the damage. If your arm begins malfunctioning, I could at least assist you.”

Bucky thought on it as the coffee began to pour. It was a flimsy reason to come, Tony’s shop was just a twenty-five minute train away. Then again, leaving Steve totally by himself wasn’t something he felt easy with.

Bucky looked down at Steve’s bare feet, then out at the sea of wrapping material he had failed to clean up. “Did you come with shoes?”

“I did.” Steve nodded.

Bucky took a gulp of coffee. “Okay. Get ready.”

* * *

After eating a quick breakfast and changing into a fresh t-shirt, sweatshirt, and jeans, Bucky left his apartment with Steve close behind. 

The city was still waking up after its long night of festivities, so the crowds were thinner and more subdued for a Sunday. Red white and blue streamers and confetti littered the sidewalks. Bucky kicked them along, happy for the holiday to be over with.

Steve stayed quiet through most of the train ride (Bucky got in trouble for almost forgetting to pay for Steve’s fare), and sat with his back straight and his hands on his knees. About ten minutes into the trip, he leaned over to Bucky and whispered, “People are staring.”

Bucky tugged on his sleeve, and slouched further in his seat. “They do that a lot,” he whispered back.

“Not at you, at me.”

Bucky eyed around the car. A group of teenaged girls across from them giggled and stole glimpses. A woman with a briefcase covered her blushing face with her hand, disguising the gesture with a cough. Two young men carrying Starbucks cups were smirking. Bucky heard one of them say under their breath, “Holy shit, what model is he?”

_So this is the positive kind of attention,_ Bucky thought. He closed his eyes contently and smiled. _And not on me this time._

“You’re really smiling.”

Bucky glanced to Steve. “Hmm?”

“I haven’t seen you really smile before. I’m happy.” Steve was about to take Bucky’s hand, but stopped. “I like it when you’re happy.”

_When I’m happy..._ It felt like something was squeezing Bucky’s chest, he had to look away. His gaze bore a hole in the floor for the rest of the ride. _You idiot, stay strong. You can’t fall under his spell like those other people._ He tightened his fists. _He’ll be gone tomorrow._

* * *

From the train stop, Stark Industries was a leisurely four block walk. The building was originally a meat-packing plant from the thirties, and had been refurbished all shiny and chrome.

Everybody knew the Stark name, especially in New York City. They were as close as could be to American royalty. Howard Stark had built an empire manufacturing and perfecting military weapons in the twentieth century. When it was his son Tony’s turn to inherit the throne, he scandalously refused to pursue his own interests, namely robotics. This led to a focus in prosthetics, where his and Bucky’s paths had crossed.

Bucky swiped a key card to enter, and he and Steve stepped into the bright waiting area. They went passed the empty office counter to the elevator.

Bucky swiped a different card, selected the basement, and after a short wait they arrived in the main studio. The place was dense in an organized technological chaos, with screens and jutting wires and parts from unsuccessful prototypes across a half dozen workbenches. Arms and legs of all skin colors and stages of development hung from the walls or laid in boxes.

As the two wandered further into the workshop, a bodiless British voice reverberated, “Master Barnes and a guest are here to see you, sir.”

“Much appreciated, J.A.R.V.I.S.” Tony strolled over to them, grinning and wiping sweat and grease on his pants. He wore a black tank top, and safety goggles on his forehead. His brown hair was matted, and black smudges marked his cheeks above his facial hair. “Always a pleasure.” He stuck out his hand for a shake.

Bucky took it, and grinned in return. “The feeling’s mutual.”

“Now, who do we have here? Made a friend?” Tony rubbed his chin as he ogled at Steve up and down.

“Well, he’s—”

“Obviously SHIELD’s handiwork, the shirt’s a dead giveaway. Captain series, new, maybe ten gigahertz, two hundred gigabytes?” Tony tilted his head, squinting. “We met before?”

“I don’t believe we have,” Steve said.

“Tell me, what is the universal order concerning Anthony E. Stark?”

Steve tensed. “That he is forbidden entry to SHIELD property.”

“Ah ha! Nine generations and they still have that warning. Those dicks can hold a grudge.” Tony turned to Bucky. “When did you get him? Thought you and persocoms were kinda dicey?”

Bucky shrugged. “It’s complicated? I did get him from SHIELD, two nights ago.”

“You picked a nice one, component-wise. These models are getting prettier and prettier, though. It’s enough to make you gag.” Tony prodded Bucky with his elbow, and chortled. “In need of some company?”

Bucky nudged him away. “Fuck off,” he said, shooting him a glare.

“I kid, I kid. So shall we see the patient?” Tony went to one of his cleaner benches, and patted a seat for Bucky.

Bucky sat down, with Steve following him to the table and standing aside from a good distance. He unzippered and freed himself of his sweatshirt, then held out his left wrist.

Tony assessed it, flipping it over back and forth. “Yep, that’s a dent, all right. How’d you wreck it this time?”

Steve started, “It was—”

“My fault.” Bucky concluded for him. “Last night, I was having some issues and Steve helped through it. The whole thing was an accident.”

“But—” Bucky silenced Steve with a look.

“Okay, then.” Tony lowered his goggles, and adjusted the glass of a mounted magnifier. “Like you said, you can never predict anything with these with ancient models. But it doesn’t seem too deep, don’t think we have to replace the entire hand.” He picked up a rotary tool.

“Guess an upside to having an ‘ancient model’ is being the repairman that doles out the bills,” Bucky said dryly.

Tony smirked. “No lie in that. Pity you broke it on a weekend. My intern would’ve loved this.”

“You have interns?”

“Stark Industries has a summer program. Her name’s Riri, sharp as a fucking tack. Last year was a kid named Peter, kind of flaky, kept running off.” Tony opened up a panel on Bucky’s wrist. “Circuits look intact. The damage was only on the surface.”

Bucky saw Steve sigh in relief.

“Shouldn’t take long. Wanna time me...” Tony’s eyes widened, staring behind Bucky.

“Sir,” J.A.R.V.I.S. spoke up, “you have another visitor.”

“Yeah, I see her.” Tony set down his tools, and lifted his goggles. “Pardon me for a sec, fellas.”

Bucky twisted his neck as far as he could to watch Tony go to the front of the studio, and coax out a woman with a strawberry blonde ponytail. “Pepper, c’mon. I told you not to creep in like this.”

_Isn’t that his wife’s name?_ Bucky thought. He had never met her, only heard Tony mention her in passing.

“Do you have guests?” Pepper asked.

“Yeah, I do, honey.” Tony enveloped her hands in his. “It’s a client. Could you wait in the apartment for me, please?”

“Oh. Absolutely.” She kissed his hands. “You’ll come back after?”

“As soon as I’m done.”

Pepper nodded in understanding, and left.

With a groan, Tony returned to the bench, and put his goggles back on. “Where were we? That’s right, I’ll bet you this takes me less than a half an hour, or it’s free.”

* * *

The repair took less than fifteen minutes, so Bucky had to begrudgingly pay in full.

“Take it easy on the heavy lifting for a few days,” Tony instructed. “Make sure it gets cleaned every other week. Yadda, yadda, you know the drill.”

Bucky flexed his wrist. The bumps were smoothed, good as new. “Thanks, Tony.”

“Yes, thank you,” Steve added. “I am grateful for your work.”

Tony frowned at him. He regarded Bucky, opened his mouth to say something, then closed it. “Hey, Cap, could you give us a minute alone?”

Steve looked at Bucky for approval, apprehension on his face. “Are you sure?”

“It’s okay, Steve. Just wait by the elevator. I’ll catch up,” Bucky told him.

“All right.” Steve gave Tony a small smile, said “Thank you, again”, and went on his way.

As soon as Steve was out of sight, Tony stated accusingly, “You named him?”

“Lots of users name their persocoms, don’t they?” Bucky said, getting irritated. “What’s wrong with it?”

“Not real names like ‘Chris’, or ‘Steve’! Persocoms are machines. You have to be able to distinguish that, unless...” Tony ran a hand through his hair.

He clasped Bucky by the shoulders, forcing him to listen. “I’m going to give you the best advice I’ve ever learned: they may look and act human in every way, but never fall in love with them.”

“‘Love’? With a persocom?” Bucky had never seen Tony so serious.

“It’ll only end in tragedy. For the both of you.”

“Yeah.” Bucky nodded. “I-I won’t.”

Tony loosened his grip. “Good man.”

* * *

Going out into the dark and cloudy streets, Bucky still didn’t know what to make of Tony’s caution. Of course he wouldn’t develop romantic feelings, Steve was as sentient as his toaster. Something about Pepper was nagging at him, too. Why would Tony be so overwrought as to hide her away? Wouldn’t he want to introduce her?

It came to Bucky on the downward steps to the train. He froze, clutching the handrail. Pepper Stark was dead. She had been killed in an accident almost ten years ago, well before he and Tony became acquainted.

“Bucky, are you feeling all right?” Steve moved in front of him on the stairs, hoping to catch Bucky were he to fall.

“That woman from the shop, was she...?”

“Yes,” Steve answered. “She was a persocom. An unlicensed brand, custom made.”

* * *

“Bucky? Bucky, can you hear me?”

Bucky was brought back to earth. “What?” He was in his kitchen, leaning against the space between his fridge and the wall. His woozy head had been tucked under his arms, his legs bent to his chest.

“I’m worried about you.” Steve was crouched close to him. “You’ve been acting preoccupied since we left Stark Industries.”

“Like how?” Bucky muttered. In that moment, he really wanted a Lager.

“You haven’t been responding to me or any other stimuli properly. You’ve been sitting in this spot for the past three hours and twelve minutes.”

Everything from the train home to unlocking his apartment door had been a blur for Bucky. He couldn’t place why the revelation about Pepper hit him so hard. The story was depressing, but he was no stranger to the ache of losing a loved one. Maybe because it involved persocoms.

_It always comes back to these fucking machines...No, it’s not her fault. She didn’t ask to be made._

“Can I help you?” Steve asked. “Is there anything I can do?”

_You can leave me alone,_ Bucky wanted to remark. Instead he said, “Like what?”

“I can divert you from your troubles.” Steve paused. “How about this, if you could have anything in the world, no restrictions, what would you want?”

“Beer.”

“Anything except alcohol.”

Bucky told him the second thing that came to mind, “I want to forget about something. I want it erased.”

“Okay, good. We can look into that.” Steve extended a hand. “Come on, let’s get off the floor.”

“But I like the floor.”

“And you can go back to it later. Right now, let’s move to somewhere more comfortable.”

Bucky didn’t have the resolve to argue. “Fine.” He took Steve’s hand.

“Thank you, Bucky.” Steve guided him off the ground, and into a kitchen chair. He took a seat opposite Bucky. “That’s better. Now, you would prefer a memory to be deleted?” He blinked and his eyes glazed as he connected online. “Could you tell me the contents of it?”

“No,” Bucky said automatically. He couldn’t gauge how long this charade would endure, and when he could go back to sulking in peace.

“That’s no problem, we can work with that. There are currently over twenty-nine million results. Can you disclose when the memory took place?”

Bucky snickered. “Pretty fucking sneaky of you. Gonna look up what happened by searching the date?”

“That wasn’t my intention in the least,” Steve replied. “There are more narrow results that depend on the age of the memory and age of the memory’s possessor.”

The lopsided grin faded from Bucky’s face. “...Two years ago. January first was when it started. I was twenty-three at the time,” he said. _Before I celebrated my birthday in the hospital._

“Thank you very much. This information helps immensely.” Steve smiled. “There are now seventeen hundred results. Would you rather try a medicinal method, or natural remedy? Hypnosis has also been shown to—”

“Why are you doing this for me?”

“I’m sorry?”

Bucky slammed his palms on the table, standing up. His chair collapsed on its side. “I made it clear I was gonna get rid of you. Why are you still being so nice?”

_And why am I asking this? He’s being nice because I programmed him that way. He doesn’t really care. Why am I getting so worked up?_

“Because it would make you happier,” Steve said. “It doesn’t matter if you return me. If I can be of use, then I want to do it.”

The pain in Bucky’s chest was back. “I...” His throat felt dry. He swallowed. “I can’t deal with this.” He turned toward the exit.

“Bucky?”

“I need space. Don’t try to follow me.” Bucky slammed the door behind him.

He kept walking down the hall, down five flights of stairs, and aimlessly along several streets. By then he had cooled down, albeit slightly out of breath, finally alone to compose his thoughts.

Bucky had to admit it to himself. His self-fulfilling prophecy had come true: he got attached to Steve.

Persocoms were made to be enticing, to do the right things to make their user want them, and Bucky could hold that feature accountable. He believed himself to be immune to their charms, to able to see beyond the artifice, and he’d been proved dead wrong. To think that he’s been won over by a robot made him sick to his core. But with that disgust was an odd sense of ease.

Not all persocoms were cold and unfeeling. Steve wanted him to get better. With his help, perhaps he could...

_Stop._ Bucky’s right fist collided with the nearest wall. _Pull yourself together._

That line of thinking was dangerous. Steve had to go, that wasn’t an option. Bucky didn’t need a persocom. His mind was made up.

The sun was already starting to sink in the overcast sky. Having not eaten since that morning, Bucky decided to grab some food from the closest convenience store before heading home.

He found one a block away, an expansive minimart he’d never been in called Odinson’s. He took the last turkey sub from the display rack and went to the cashier to pay. To his unpleasant surprise, a persocom attended the register. The wires in her neck were plugged into it, the black strands entwined in her long blonde hair.

“Good evening, sir!” she addressed him cheerfully, and scanned the sandwich. “Will this be all for today?”

“Yeah, that’s it,” Bucky said, avoiding eye contact. As his gaze drifted, he caught a nametag on her blouse. “Your name is Freya?”

“Yes, it is,” she answered. “Your total will come to four dollars and fifty-three cents, please.”

“Did your owner name you that?” Bucky asked.

“Yes, he did. He is also the owner of Odinson’s.”

“And do you like working for him?”

“Yes, I do.” Freya grinned. “It’s a pleasure to be employed here. He knows he can count on me, so I enjoy being able to aid customers for him.”

“That so.” Bucky fished out his wallet and handed her a ten-dollar bill.

Freya opened the register, and exchanged his money for the change. “Thank you very much. Have a lovely afternoon!”

Bucky grinned in return. “Thanks. You, too.”

* * *

Bucky took his time going back to the apartment, depositing the empty sandwich wrapper in a trashcan on the way. He knew he had to face Steve eventually, he couldn’t avoid the process of returning him to SHIELD. Steve told him that he understood. His drive and personality would be reset for someone who actually wanted a persocom. Bucky would get over him.

He waited in front of his entrance for five entire minutes, his keys in hand. It was just another tactic to avoid confronting the issue. Finally accepting that he should get it over with, Bucky opened the door.

“I’m back.”

He expected Steve to still be sitting at the kitchen table, but found him on the floor near his shipping box. Almost all the wrapping had been cleared from the ground. “Welcome back,” Steve said, getting up. “I tidied the packaging materials I arrived with. They were stuck everywhere, I thought it would save some time tomorrow when I’m repackaged for SHIELD.”

Bucky couldn’t talk, only nodded. He went to the couch, and plunked himself down.

“Bucky?”

Bucky rubbed his face. “I don’t know what to do,” he said in a mumble.

“Could I help in any way?” Steve asked.

Peeking through his fingers, Bucky saw something blue and covered in plastic in Steve’s arms. “What’s that?”

Steve gave it to him. “This is the suit I’m advertised to come with. There are boots for it, too. The shirt and pants I’m wearing now are a secondary outfit.”

Bucky stared at the white star in the middle of the suit. “Hey, Steve. Can you do me a favor?”

“Anything.”

“I want you to try this on for me.” Bucky passed it back to him.

“Of course.” Steve looked around the room. “Where would you like me to change?”

“Just do it here. I’ll close my eyes. You tell me when you’re dressed, okay?”

“Okay.”

Bucky listened to fabric rustling, buttons being snapped, and zippers being pulled.

“I’m ready. You can open your eyes now.”

Bucky did, and the sight of Steve made him erupt into laughter.

Without a doubt Steve filled it out spectacularly, the stealth suit sewn tight to his muscled artificial skin. It was the color combination, however, that caused Bucky’s fit. The armor was mostly a deep blue with red and white accents throughout. The star was placed in the center of the chest above a series of vertical red and white stripes at the midsection.

Bucky fell over on the cushions, holding his sides. “You-You look like the American flag! Someone should display you from a flagpole!”

“You’re laughing!” Steve was smiling proudly. “This is the first time I’ve heard you genuinely laugh.”

Letting out a few last chuckles, Bucky brought himself up, his grin still in place. He hadn’t laughed like that in ages.

Steve exuded a relaxing presence, the kind that Bucky didn’t have to worry about impressing, one where he felt he could be himself. It didn’t make a difference that Steve was a machine, Bucky wanted that presence in his life.

_Fuck it._

“Steve,” Bucky began, looking him in the eye, “I’ve made my decision. I’m going to keep you.”

Steve stepped over to him, his expression in shock. “Are you certain? This is your own decision?”

“Yeah, this is real,” Bucky said. “I’ve thought long and hard, and I want you to stay here with me.”

“Bucky...” Steve held out his arms. “Can I hug you, please?”

“Go ahead.”

Steve brought him in a close embrace. “Thank you so much.”

There it was again, that nice, comforting feeling. Bucky returned the hug, his cheek resting on Steve’s shoulder.

He knew this choice had the potential to be either the best decision of his life, or the worst. It could all backfire on him one day, but in that moment it didn’t matter to him.

“You’re welcome.”

* * *

Bucky woke before his alarm clock did, allowing him to take his time getting ready for work. His sleep that night had been tranquil without the nightmares that had become routine. It was a promising start for a Monday.

He rolled up his sleeves as he ambled into his kitchen. “G’morning, Steve.”

Steve, on the couch, jolted awake out of sleep mode. He kept on the stealth suit from yesterday. “Good morning, Bucky! Would you like any assistance?”

“I got it, thanks. Think I’ll make pancakes today,” Bucky said, taking the baking soda, flour, and sugar from the cabinets. “I’m actually really good at making them. Even my mom and dad were jealous.”

“That’s great! You must be a skilled cook, then.”

Bucky laughed as he got out the frying pan and mixing bowl. “Not so much. I just know how to do a couple of things, mostly breakfast related.”

“All the same, that takes skill. Breakfast is the most important meal of the day.”

“I guess you’re right.” Bucky smiled as he retrieved the remaining ingredients from the fridge. “You don’t have to sit all the way over there. I can hear you better from the table.”

“Thank you, I’ll take that offer.” Steve pulled up a chair for himself. “I can watch the master at work and get some pointers.”

“‘Pointers’?” Bucky poured the flour into the bowl. “You can just download instructions on how to do it.”

“I’m sure your version would be much tastier.”

Bucky was about to humbly disagree, when his holo-screen rang. A screen sprang up saying, “Incoming Call From: SHIELD Help Center” with their eagle logo. The “Accept” and “Reject” icons appeared under it.

Bucky put down the bowl and pressed “Accept”. He couldn’t help but smirk when the video feed of the caller came up. “How’s it going, Maria?”

“Good morrow, Mr. Barnes. Quite nice, thank you.”

“Thought you were on vacation.”

“In about five minutes. I wanted to check back on your progress,” Maria replied. “To be honest, I wouldn’t dream about letting someone else do the customer follow up.” She leaned in. “From your Captain Rogers at your side, can I assume you’ve figured out the kinks?”

Bucky and Steve exchanged looks. Steve grinned, putting a hand on Bucky’s arm.

“Suppose so,” Bucky said. “I won’t be returning him after all.”

Maria clapped. “That’s what we like to hear! Now about your payment schedule...”

“You SHIELD guys really cut to the chase, don’t you?” Bucky stated.

“And we thank you in kind for your patronage!”

* * *

“I’ll be home around five, maybe five-fifteen depending on the train,” Bucky told Steve as he was about to leave. “You have my cell number, right? So you can call if anything happens.”

“Your work number, personal email, and work email are also in my memory. I know how to operate a holo-screen,” Steve said. “Don’t worry, everything will be fine.”

Bucky shuffled his feet. “You’ll be okay here by yourself for that long?”

“I’ll keep myself occupied without disturbing your space.”

“All right, I’ll be going.” Bucky opened the door and waved goodbye. “See ya.”

Steve waved back. “Have a nice day, Bucky!”

* * *

Going back to the office was thankfully a painless experience. Nobody made comments about Bucky bailing on Friday, and no one gave him looks. His co-workers must have been used to it by now.

A small mountain of overdue paperwork was added to Bucky’s desk, courtesy of Peggy. She pulled him aside later to question if he was okay, to which he gave her a “yes, thank you”.

“Don’t stress me out so much,” she responded with a smile. “I’m here to talk, if you need to. You’re not alone in this.”

* * *

Bucky picked at his salad. “Hey Sam, can I ask you something weird?”

Sam finished a bite of his chicken wrap. “Sure, what?” He looked cool and collected as usual (being one of the top salespeople in the company). His short trim and facial hair were on point, his green shirt complimenting his skin tone. His jacket was next to him on the bench, his tie was loosened, and his sleeves were folded.

The two of them were having lunch outside on the roof again. The fresh air made the food taste better in Sam’s opinion, far superior than in a stuffy office.

“Do you have a persocom?” Bucky stabbed a piece of lettuce with his fork. “Don’t think the subject ever got brought up.”

“Indeed, I do. And I have her right here.” Sam set his wrap aside, and unzipped his bag. “Come on out, Redwing.”

A bird flew out of Sam’s bag, and perched on his shoulder. Her feathers were red and puffy. “Good afternoon, Sam!” she cried out in a childish voice.

“Whoa. That’s really a persocom?” Bucky stared as she nuzzled Sam’s neck, cooing softly. “They come in other sizes?”

“Redwing is a mobile version,” Sam told him, petting the bird. “She has the essentials: internet access, phone calls, data storage. And you don’t have to worry about lugging them around, like the life-sized ones.”

“I never knew about these.” Bucky reached to touch Redwing, but just as he got near, she glared and screeched in his direction. He drew his hand back at once. “Jesus.”

“Now, now, Redwing. He’s a friend,” Sam scolded, making the bird pout. “Sorry Buck, she doesn’t really like strangers.”

“I can tell. Is she a SHIELD model?”

“SHIELD only makes the full bodies. Why so interested all of a sudden?”

“I was getting to that.” Bucky scratched the back of his neck. “I...kind of bought a persocom from SHIELD last weekend.”

“No kidding? Thought you hated those things.”

“Yeah, I thought I did, too. Do you have any tips?”

“Like persocom advice?”

Redwing flapped her wings, and dropped onto Sam’s head. She closed her eyes, going into standby mode.

“I’m honestly not the person to ask about SHIELD,” Sam answered. “I’ve heard mixed things about the company itself. Got a firsthand account from my wife.”

“Your wife?” Bucky said. “You’re married?”

Sam laughed. “Presumed I was single? C’mon.” He scooped Redwing off his head, and into his palm. “Display Photos. Honeymoon Vacation folder, fourteenth item.”

Redwing leaped up, and puffed out her tail feathers. “Yes, Sam!” A projection of Sam and a red-haired woman materialized. They both wore sunglasses and cheesy grins as they showed off their enormous highballs.

“A year this June,” Sam said fondly. “You started working here just after we got home from Puerto Rico.”

“No way.” Bucky ogled at the photo “That’s...Natasha? Natasha Romanoff?”

“You know Nat?”

“I went to high school with her. She was the Russian transfer student, she got the nickname ‘Black Widow’ for dumping every guy she hooked up with. We used to smoke together behind the bleachers during study hall!”  

“Small world! We’ll have to meet up, Nat will flip,” Sam exclaimed. “There’s this crepe shop that just opened by our place in Crown Heights a few weeks ago. We should check it out.”

A nervous flutter went through Bucky. Why did they have to meet in public? “Uh, yeah. Sounds great.”

“This Saturday, around one? And don’t forget your persocom.”

* * *

Soon enough the uneventful day came to a close, and Bucky made the journey home. “Steve, I’m back.”

“Welcome home, Bucky!” Steve greeted him at the door. “How was work?”

“Not bad.” Bucky noticed Steve still had on his stealth suit. “Did you wear that all day?”

Steve looked down at the suit. “Yes. You didn’t tell me to change.”

“Weren’t you hot? There’s air conditioning, but you must have been sweating...” Bucky stopped. “Oh, right. Persocom.”

“Would you like me to wear something else?”

“That shirt and pants are the only things you have that aren’t a Halloween costume. You can borrow my clothes for now.” Bucky eyed Steve’s taller frame and wide shoulders. “They’re gonna be tight. We can buy some more later.” He removed his shoes with one hand while he checked his cell for email messages, then went into the kitchen.

Steve frowned. “I don’t want you to waste your money on me.”

“Then what do you suggest?” Bucky took a lopsided seltzer can from the fridge.

“I’ll get a job.”

Bucky raised a brow. “Doing what? Drill sergeant?”

“I’ll find something,” Steve said insistently. “Most hiring establishments in New York are persocom-friendly with the owner’s permission.”

Bucky pulled the can tab unleashing a froth. He smiled at the thought of Steve as a crossing guard or a yoga instructor. “Okay, but no hacking banks for me.”

“I would never do that. All licensed persocoms are obligated to comply with state laws.”

“What if I ordered you to disobey the state laws? Would that overrule it?” Bucky a took sip of seltzer, curious of Steve’s answer.  

“I’d have to refuse. For example, I am unable to purposely harm any human or animal, except in the event of protecting my owner.” Steve gently took Bucky’s right wrist. The bruising was already gone. “I’m sorry, Bucky.”

“I get it. I’ve forgiven you.” Bucky let Steve hold onto him a few seconds longer and released himself. “Change the subject, uh...what did you do all day?”

“I completed cleaning the dishware you left in the sink.”

Bucky turned to the overflowing drying rack. “Aw, Steve. You didn’t have to do that.”

“It was no trouble. I straightened the living room a little, although I didn’t want to intrude by looking for cleaning supplies in other rooms. Then I accessed the public classic literature and fine art archives. They kept me busy for an hour. The remaining time I went into standby mode. How was your day?”

“About as interesting as your down time, I’m sure,” Bucky said. He flopped onto the couch. “You wouldn’t care if I explained how data entry works. I mean, you’d know all about it, a persocom really should be doing it, but it’s still boring. Rebecca almost fell asleep over the holo-screen when I tried to describe my job.” He chuckled at the memory.

“If you wanted to talk about it, I’d listen.” Steve sat next to him. “May I ask who Rebecca is?”

“She’s my sister. We haven’t kept in touch lately.” Bucky took another sip. He was quiet for a beat. “Oh, yeah. I hung out with my friend Sam today. Turns out he’s married to another friend from when I was a teenager.”

“That’s excellent! Have you been in contact with your teenaged friend?”

“Not since senior year. Nat left right after graduation.”

“You should meet up with them!”

“Already been planned for Saturday. Sam even said you could come along.” Bucky leaned back. He swallowed the rest of his drink, and crushed the can.

Steve reclined as well so their eyelines met. “Did you not leave on good terms with Nat? You don’t seem very enthusiastic.”

“That isn’t it. I should’ve told Sam, he’d get it. It’d be different if it was at his apartment. We’re meeting at a pastry shop, and...” Bucky covered his face.

“You don’t have to talk about it now.”

Bucky breathed out a sigh. “I’m not...I feel anxious being around a ton of strangers. I can put up with it for the short time on the train. But being trapped for an hour in one spot with all those people passing by...”

“I’m sorry.” Steve put a hand on Bucky’s shoulder. “Do you not like going outside ever?”

“I will if I have to. It’s not as bad on the street if I keep my head down. If I go out too far in the city, there’s a chance I’ll get recognized for more than just my arm.”

“Sam invited me to attend. I’ll be with you to draw the attention off yourself like yesterday,” Steve offered. “Being a persocom can have its advantages.”

Bucky cracked a grin. “Even if you weren’t a persocom, I’m five-hundred percent certain you’d still get stares.”

Steve laughed. “Do you want to go?”

“It’d be rude not to.”

“But do you want to go?”

“...Yeah.”

“Then you should go. We can practice going out together.”

“Starting tomorrow.”

“Bucky.”

“Let’s watch a movie. You like movies?” Bucky opened a drawer under his television revealing a pile of battered DVD cases. “Ever heard of ‘My Cousin Vinny’?”

Steve’s eyes briefly glazed. “Its IMDb rating is seven point five. Mostly positive reviews.”

“It’s a classic. You’ll love it.”

“All right,” Steve said, shrugging with a smile. “If you say so.”

* * *

The next day Steve tried to persuade Bucky outdoors again with similar results. Bucky sidetracked him with a game of chess (“No going easy on me, and no anticipating my moves”). This kept the two busy all night since Bucky maintained on winning a match. He never did, almost collapsing from the lack of sleep, and leaving Steve’s record an unblemished thirty-three to zero.

By Wednesday, Steve at last convinced Bucky to get out of the apartment. He had to disregard Bucky wheedling him into marathoning a tv show, and enforce the goal of eating with his friends. “This is only a trial run. If you feel too uncomfortable, just tell me and we can leave straightaway,” Steve reassured him. Bucky, though dragging his feet, agreed.

Steve looked up a small café called The Hungry Ghost for them to endeavor first. It closed at nine in the evening on most weekdays, so the traffic of people going in and out would be less at eight.

Bucky fidgeted the entire train ride there. He had his eyes closed, trying to block out the chatter of everyone around him. The suspense was driving him insane.

Steve, in his SHIELD shirt and pants, kept a hand overtop Bucky’s and watched for their stop. “You can do this,” he mentioned several times. “You got this.”

When they arrived outside the The Hungry Ghost, Bucky hesitated to touch the doorknob. “What if I freak out? What if someone knows me from the news?”

“Then we’ll go, and we never have to come back,” Steve replied. “I won’t let anybody hurt you.”

Bucky trusted his word. He knew Steve, moreover his programming, wouldn’t allow him to be put in danger. “Okay.” He swung open the door.

The dining space hummed with activity, its tables filled with young professionals conversing about their day. Steve led them to an empty table near the back. “How are you doing, Bucky?” he whispered a few minutes after they sat down.

Bucky was wringing his hands, the skin of his right one red and dry. He made sure he was breathing. “I’m...holding in there. I think.”

“You’re fine. See, nobody’s gawking.”

Bucky peered up at the other customers. Steve was right. “God, I’m so paranoid.”

“It’s okay. You’re okay.” Steve carefully pried Bucky’s fingers apart, and held his hand. The action seemed to calm Bucky a little, his restless shaking beginning to subside.

“Do you have a coping method you use when you feel anxious?” Steve asked.

“That CD you saved,” Bucky answered. “‘The Queen is Dead’ by The Smiths.”

“Is there a song in particular you like?”

“The whole album is pretty much perfect, but my favorite is ‘There Is a Light That Never Goes Out’.”

Steve blinked, searching for the song. “Yes, it was quite influential at the time. ‘Take me out tonight...’” He hummed the melody. “Whenever you feel uneasy, you can play that song in your mind.”

“That’s a...good idea. I can do that.” Bucky managed a grin. “And what if it doesn’t work?”

“We’ll find a backup technique. In the meantime, as long as I’m with you and needed, I’ll be there,” Steve said. “Bucky, you’ll always be safe with me.”  

Bucky looked down, seeing their hands locked together, and was hit by an emotion distinct from his panic. His face got hot, the tightening ache in his chest returned.  

_Relax. What is wrong with you? He’s nice and attractive, yes, and also made of hardware. Get over it._

It occurred to Bucky that he should move his hand, make Steve back off. They were owner and persocom above all else.

Yet Bucky didn’t want to move. “Thanks, Steve.”

* * *

The evening concluded better than Bucky could have dreamed. Steve preoccupied him with small talk over a latte, keeping Bucky’s focus on him and not the others in the room. Steve’s smiling face, he realized, seemed to tame his nerves. There had been a handful of scares when servers and customers going to the bathroom walked passed, but Steve’s advice proved helpful, and soon enough The Hungry Ghost was closing for the night.

“You were wonderful!” Steve praised him during the train home. “You’ve made so much progress.”

Bucky flushed. “That’s only because you literally held my hand through it.”

“That’s not true,” Steve asserted. “You were the one who decided to come, and you were able to stay, even though you had doubts. This is nothing short of an achievement.”

With Steve’s encouragement sustaining him, Bucky proposed trying another café on Thursday to Steve’s delight. The experience at Penny House went as well as the day before. Come Friday at Sit & Wonder, Bucky was no longer wary of people proceeding around his table. He felt accomplished, a rare swell of pride that he had lacked for years.

When Saturday rolled along, Bucky was fully prepared to meet with Sam and Natasha. “I’m still kind of on edge now,” he said to Steve as they rounded the street corner, “but this time it’s the good edgy, like it’s the anticipation of seeing them. Sam told me Nat was looking forward to this all week.”

“That’s fantastic!” Steve said. As he had worn his SHIELD outfit for several days in a row, Bucky lent him a pair of jeans and the biggest t-shirt he owned (which nevertheless barely fit Steve). “Another big step. I’m so glad for you.”

Bucky saw Natasha outside leaning against Rachel’s Creperie. He called out to her, waving, “Hey, Widow! How’s it hangin’?”

Natasha turned, and burst into a smile. “Barnes!” She ran to meet him halfway down the sidewalk, and threw her arms around him. “Holy shit! It’s been, what, almost a decade? I’ve missed you!”

“I’ve missed you too, Nat,” Bucky said as he surfaced from the hug. Her long red waves were cut shorter, her makeup more refined since high school. She wore a mint summer dress and black open-toed heels. “You look great. And you’re married!”

Natasha held up the back of her left hand, showing off her ring. “It happens. You look good, too.” She caught sight of Bucky’s prosthetic arm, and her expression fell. “I’m so sorry. If I wasn’t dealing with something at the time, I would’ve—”

“It’s okay,” Bucky interrupted. “Thanks.”

Natasha’s smile resumed. “Let’s go, Sam’s picked the table already.” She led them in the crowded shop.

Capacity had been maxed with every chair at every table occupied. Bucky knew he’d be running just at the thought of that many people jammed together for potentially hours if he hadn’t practiced earlier. Even then, he had to compose himself as he stepped inside, and exhale slowly.

_And if a double-decker bus crashes into us..._

He glanced to Steve, who smiled. “You got this,” Steve mouthed.   

Sam was waiting at a small table by the counter. His button down shirt was impeccably pressed, as was his tie. He stood, gesturing them over. “Hi, guys!”

Natasha hooked an arm through his, and pecked him on the cheek. “Babe, let me introduce you to someone I know from the ancient times.”

“Ah yes, Mr. Barnes, was it? A pleasure to meet you.” Sam held out his hand to Bucky.

Bucky shook it. “Sam Wilson, I think? The pleasure is all mine.” He looked at Sam and Natasha’s polished attire, down to his plain three-quarter sleeve shirt and pants. “Well, I feel underdressed.”

“No need,” Sam said. “We’re meeting up with Mom and Pop tonight, so regrettably we can’t stay all day.” He indicated Steve. “And you must be Bucky’s famous persocom.” He extended his hand again, which Steve took.  

“My name is Steve. It’s very nice to meet you both,” Steve replied. “I appreciate your invitation.”

“A gen nine Captain?” Natasha whistled. “Shit, Barnes. I had no idea you had that kind of money.”

“Trust me, I don’t,” Bucky said with the roll of his eyes. “I’ll be making payments on my deathbed.”

The group took their seats, Sam and Natasha on one side with Steve and Bucky on the other. Soon after, a harried server laid out a stack of menus, saying he would bring water for the table.

“Sam told me you worked for SHIELD, Nat?” Bucky asked.

“Yep, that’s right, for five years. Bunch of asshats... I’m a fitness trainer, now. That’s where I met this stud.” Natasha playfully poked Sam in the stomach, grinning.

Sam poked her back. “I challenged her at who could climb the gym’s rockwall the fastest.”

“After eighteen attempts, we agreed to a truce.”

“I asked her out the next day.”

Bucky couldn’t help but smile at their interactions. “That’s really sweet. I’m happy you’re both happy.”

Sam put an arm around Natasha. She leaned her head on his shoulder. “Thanks,” Sam said.

“We are,” Natasha agreed.

As the server had told them, he returned with four glasses of ice water and left just as quickly to attend to another fussing table. Steve stared at his drink, unsure what to do. He began to push it to Bucky, who pushed it away in front of Steve. “Keep it,” Bucky said.

Natasha stirred her straw in her glass. “So how’ve you been? I recall you crossing the street to avoid persocoms, quite the one-eighty. Captain Rogers here keeping you busy?”

“He really has,” Bucky remarked. “I’m still getting used to him being in the apartment. He’s like a roommate that runs on solar power. Do you guys have a persocom at your home?”

Natasha gave pause, absorbing the question. “We don’t,” she said. “Not really our thing.”

“Steve’s been helping me work through some panic issues. I wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t for him.”

“Oh no, I can’t take the credit,” Steve said. “Bucky made it by his own strength.”

“I insist you take the credit. You ‘improved my life’. I’m grateful for it.”

Steve’s eyes went wide, then he smiled his warm smile. “You’re very welcome.”

“Great to hear!” Natasha was smiling too, but her brow was creased. Realizing this, she concentrated on her water. “SHIELD the business might be shady, but their products are the best in the American market.” She gave Steve a hard look. “Gen nines are cutting edge tech at replicating human mannerisms. For being only persocoms, they’re extremely lifelike. Maybe too extreme.”

A brief silence fell over the group before Sam broke it. “Speaking of persocoms,” he said, opening his bag, “I wanted to try introducing someone else to Steve. Redwing!”

In a fluff of feathers, Redwing glided out of his bag and landed onto the tabletop. “Good afternoon, Sam! Good afternoon, Natasha!”

“Redwing, we have friends here with us,” Sam told her, and pointed to Steve and Bucky. “Want to say ‘hi’?”

Redwing hopped around to face them. Bucky kept his hands to himself in fear of a repeat of his last acquaintance with the bird. Incredibly, Redwing ignored him and flew right onto Steve’s finger. “It’s nice to meet ya!” she sang.

“Hello, it’s nice to meet you, too,” Steve said. Redwing chirped happily in reply.  

Bucky couldn’t believe what he was seeing. He felt an odd combination of astonishment and envy. “Seriously?”

Natasha held up her menu to obscure her fit of giggles.

Sam had to duck under the table, he was laughing so hard. “What do you know? She had a great judge of character all along!”

* * *

The conversations continued their jovial tone as Sam, Natasha, and Bucky swapped stories from their teenaged years over their crepes (“Has Nat mentioned the time she spray-painted dicks on all the cars of the football team?” “It wasn’t that big a deal. I barely got away with it.” “No, go on, now I need to hear this”). Steve mostly kept quiet and listened, only adding to the discussion if he was addressed and laughing when everyone else laughed.

Eventually Redwing alerted Sam a reminder of the dinner with his parents. The group paid for their food, and met outside for their farewells.  

“We have to do this again soon,” Sam said to Bucky. “It’s been very educational.”

“Don’t worry,” Bucky said. ”I’ve got a whole library of stories lined up for next time,”

“Good thing I can say the same about you,” Natasha joked. “I’m really glad you’re doing well.”

Bucky grinned. “Likewise.”

“Near Prince Street is a couple blocks of galleries. We would’ve showed you around if there’d been time,” Sam went on. “We can go over schedules later. And Steve is included, of course.”

“Thank you very much.” Steve clasped Sam’s hand, then Natasha’s. “It’s great getting to know people Bucky is dear to. It’s an honor.”

Natasha stiffened at his comment. She waited for Sam to start chatting with Bucky again, then leaned up close to Steve’s ear. “Don’t you dare let him get hurt,” she murmured, barely a sound. “Remember that you are a persocom. He’s alive. It won’t amount to anything good.”

“See you Monday, Buck?” Sam asked as he and Natasha turned to leave.

“I’ll be there bright and early. Bye, guys.”

“Later, Barnes.”

Bucky watched them disappear down the sidewalk. “Steve, are you okay?”

Steve smiled as usual, and nodded. “I am. Is there something wrong with me?”

“No...” Bucky must have been imagining things, or his eyes had played a trick in the bright sun. It had lasted less than half a second. When Natasha whispered something to Steve, Bucky was certain Steve’s expression was of total devastation, as if his world had shattered to pieces.

* * *

Bucky rang Sam’s cell phone later that evening, as soon as he was sure Steve had zoned out in sleep mode. “You told me that Nat’s experience at SHIELD was ‘mixed’. Does she have something against life-sized persocoms?”

Sam sighed. A muffled sound came over the line, like he was covering the receiver, hiding an exchange on his end. “I’ll let her tell you the whole story when she’s ready. When she was at SHIELD, there was an old damaged persocom that she worked with. She said Steve was looking at you with the same face that he used to look at her with.”

Bucky blinked. He could feel his stomach twisting. “Meaning?”

“I think you know what it means.”

“That’s...crazy.” Bucky let out a huffy laugh. “No way. Persocoms don’t have real feelings. They’re computers acting on an algorithm. That’s crazy.”      

* * *

Bucky dreamed of his prison cell that night. He was lying on the cold ground, contemplating death, when his rescuer came into view. The persocom in the Soviet coat held him in their arms, smiling sweetly. In place of their eyes were two empty sparking holes.

“Be at ease.” The voice warbled, disjointed and malfunctioning. From the eye sockets dripped a black ooze. More of the substance streamed from their mouth as they opened it to speak again: “Help will arrive shortly, sir.”

Bucky woke up screaming. His entire body was shaking, his lungs couldn’t keep up with the frantic beating of his heart.

He winced when he heard knocking on his bedroom door. “Bucky! Are you all right?”

“I-I’m okay, Steve,” Bucky responded weakly through his panting breaths. It crossed his mind that Steve had been staying with him for a week and still hadn’t gone outside the living room.

“If you need me, just call,” Steve said. “I’ll be right there.”

“Thank you.” Bucky settled back against his pillow, pulling the sheets over him. “And if a ten-ton truck kills the both of us...” He trailed off. “Steve?”

Steve finished the lyrics, “To die by your side well, the pleasure, the privilege is mine.”

With that, Bucky closed his eyes and drifted to sleep.  

* * *

“We’re going to that gallery block today.”

“What was that?”

Bucky had declared it during breakfast. He ripped apart his toast. “I said that we’re going to those galleries that Sam talked about yesterday.”

Tony’s and now Natasha’s attitudes toward persocom affection were weighing on Bucky, corrupting his thoughts and dreams. If he stayed home all day, he knew he’d only be consumed by questions he couldn’t dare to inquire.

“Would you like me to stay here?” Steve asked. “You might want some space.”

Bucky nudged the crumbs on his plate. Since the very start Steve gave him the option to shut him away, rewrite his program, cease speaking, not be touched, and Bucky continued to reject those offers. It might have began as compassion for the eager persocom, which, after Steve’s help with his panic attack and anxiety, developed into something else. He’d like to think dependence wasn’t a factor. He trusted Steve with his life, beside him Bucky truly felt safe. Was is the bonds of friendship, family, or...

_Shut up, just shut the fuck up._

“No, come with me,” Bucky said. “I’d prefer the company.”

* * *

They stopped by Prince Street midday, the sun high and the sky a clear blue. People trickled in and out of the buildings, mainly bohemians and bored teenagers on summer vacation.

The first gallery they tried, Gate Seven, focused on abstract photography. The black and white retouching on the distorted images made Bucky nauseated. After flicking through four of the gigantic prints, he quietly told Steve he wanted to go.

Gallery two, Blue Fox, consisted of installations. Entire rooms catered to a single scene surrounded by lofty white walls. Bucky was able to relax, taking his time to walk around the pieces and come to his own interpretations on their meaning before glimpsing the information plaque.

“Are you having fun?” he asked Steve as they looked at a series of modified screens showing political banter.

“If you are,” Steve replied.

“Do persocoms have opinions on art? Or opinions at all?”

“I perceive things objectively, as they are without bias, and base my reasoning from that. Persocoms are designed for logic.”

“But, logically, could you recognize something as more beautiful or ugly in comparison?”

“If I obtain the opinions of humans to contrast with—”

“I asked if you could recognize it.”

Steve stared at the floorboards. “I don’t know.”

The remainder of their stay at Blue Fox proceeded without talking. Bucky regretted opening Pandora’s box, and now his questions only doubled in number. He attempted to keep his mind on the art, which wasn’t helped by one of the exhibitions being a gathering of pastel gen one persocoms. Their eyes were glassy, their mouths locked in permanent serene smiles conflicting their wild poses.

Bucky couldn’t bare to look at Steve as he grabbed him by the sleeve and fled the room. “I’m sorry,” he mumbled, having enough of the social commentary for one day.

This led them into the next gallery, Clover, that contained traditional art to Bucky’s relief. Sketches and paintings lined the walls, created by artists who clearly lived their craft. The subject matter focused on realism, people, still lifes, and landscapes so detailed and intricate they could have been mistaken for photographs.

Bucky was about to change floors, when he noticed Steve hadn’t followed him. “Steve?” He went back to the previous room to find Steve transfixed on an oil painting. It depicted two nineteenth century women, one seated and one standing in a flower garden. Steve’s arms were at his sides, his mouth slightly parted, his head tilted to see up the four foot canvas.

Bucky gripped his arm. “Steve?”

“‘Spring at the Russo Villa’. The technique is flawless,” Steve said in total reverence, not taking his eyes off the painting. “Sally Eber was a master of masters. The Impressionist brushstrokes, the subtle manner of the faces, the passionate color, it’s...”

“Beautiful?” Bucky suggested.

Steve smiled. “Yes, it’s beautiful.”

Bucky had never seen this side of Steve before, relishing in something that didn’t revolve around him. He couldn’t tell if Steve’s opinion was just another manufactured response, in truth Bucky knew he could probably never tell. But real or synthetic, Bucky concluded, it was Steve’s own. To Steve it was real, and Bucky was happy for him.

“You should download a photo of it,” Bucky told him, “so you could keep it with you.”

“That wouldn’t do it justice. Seeing it physically, as opposed to a seventy-two DPI image, makes such a difference.” Steve flinched, coming out of his trance, and turned to Bucky. “I’m sorry, I’m holding you up. We can leave now.”

“It’s fine. Let’s stay a little longer,” Bucky said. “It is really beautiful.”

“Bucky....”

“And we can always come back and visit it.”

Steve nodded, and looked back to the painting. “Thank you.”

* * *

_Oh, shit, shit._ Bucky knew he had made a lethal mistake.

Steve moved his black queen beside Bucky’s white king. “Checkmate.”

Bucky groaned, tempted to fling the pieces off the board in frustration. He folded his arms, his legs crossed on the window ledge seat both of them were sitting on. “God damn it. Best out of five?”

A routine had formed between them in the evenings: they would either watch one of the old movies in Bucky’s collection, or play a board game. Bucky was entertained by either activity, especially of Steve’s amused expressions during the films. Steve had been forbidden to look up summaries and spoilers (“What’s the fun in that?”), so the plot twists could make their impact. Bucky thought he would die laughing at the end of “Monty Python and the Holy Grail” when Steve looked blankly at the screen stuttering, “What...What happened?” On the other hand, the board games brought out Bucky’s competitive side which, in addition to his losing streak, made for very heated sessions.

“We’ve already played ten games,” Steve said. “Perhaps something else?”

“Y’know what you should do, Steve?” Bucky started to put the pieces back into place. “You should try drawing.”

“That’s...I couldn’t,” Steve protested. “It wouldn’t be right.”

“Give it a whirl,” Bucky said. “You’re good at everything, anyway.”

“I’m a persocom, Bucky. I was made to be this way.” Steve’s voice was harsher than he meant. He added, softer, “What I do shouldn’t be measured next to a human’s accomplishment. It’s not right.”  

Bucky rolled the black king in his palm. He pointed it at Steve. “You’ve been telling me when you’re happy, so you have a program to moderate feelings, right?”

“I do,” Steve said. “It’s limited. They are feelings I should be having for my owner, for example being happy when you’re well, or concerned when you’re sick.”

Bucky was getting tired of being referred to as Steve’s “owner”. “I think you should be able to pursue what you like. And you obviously liked that painting. Going out today was just a distraction for me, but you got something huge out it, and that’s great.” He presented Steve the chess piece. “Persocom, human, so what? It’d be a shame to waste either way.”

Steve, though hesitant, took the king and returned it to its square. “Very well.” He grinned. “But I’d prefer to buy the supplies myself.”

“With your nonexistent job?” Bucky teased.

“I am still searching for one,” Steve contended. “Most available positions are outside the Brooklyn borough.”

“So how would you travel to said job? Walk?”

“Yes. I don’t get tired, and it would save on train fare.”

“Oh, sure, obviously.” Bucky stifled a laugh. He rose from the window ledge. “If you’re going to take being an artist seriously, you have to start somewhere.”

He ran to his room, and came back with a spiral notebook and a pen. “These were my college European Cultures notes. The paper will work just fine.” He flipped through the notebook to a blank page, and gave it and the pen to Steve before he sat back down. “Go on, draw something.”

Steve poised the tip of the pen over the paper as if the action was foreign. “What should I draw?”

“Anything you want,” Bucky said. “The window sill, the chessboard, the street...”

“Can I draw you?” Steve asked.

For some reason, Bucky’s face grew hot at his question. He wasn’t accustomed to flattery, he figured. “Yeah. How do you want me? Sitting, standing?”

“Let’s try sitting. Yes, with your legs off the edge like that. Maybe with your hands in your lap, no at your side...”

Bucky smirked, tipping his head back. “Anything else, Da Vinci?”

“If it’s not too much trouble...” Steve faltered. “Could you smile for me?”

At this, Bucky’s fists clenched the seat cushion. “Why,” he wanted to ask if his throat wasn’t so dry. Shyly bringing his gaze up from the ground, he smiled to Steve.

Steve smiled back. “Thank you, Bucky.” The pen gradually moved along the page. “I like it best when you smile.”

Bucky felt his heart might tear from his chest. For endless minutes he watched Steve sketch him, focusing on keeping still and his smile unwavering no matter how agonizing it became.

Eventually Steve put the pen down, picked it up for a few more touches, then put it away again. He frowned. “It’s not...Hmm. I’m not satisfied with it.”

“Let me see.” Bucky stood, going behind Steve.

Steve covered the notebook, bringing it to his chest. “I’m sorry. I do need to practice.”

“C’mon. It’ll be fifty times better than any scrap I ever did.”

Slowly, Steve released his grip for Bucky to look. “I will draw you again when I polish my skills.”

Bucky took the notebook. “That...” _Can’t be me._ The Bucky on the paper was blissful, calm, without a care in the world. It was undeniably him, the face and body to the smallest detail, and yet Bucky couldn’t remember a time when he looked that happy.

“We can just throw it away.” Steve reached for the page.

“No, please.” Bucky held it firmly. “I love it. Thank you, Steve.” He gave the notebook back to him. “See? It takes talent to make me look good.”

“That’s not true.” Steve put the drawing aside.

“You can use the rest of the paper for sketches when I’m at work.”

“Bucky,” Steve touched Bucky’s cheek, “you don’t have to do this for me. I should be the one serving you.”

Bucky leaned into Steve’s touch, holding his hand over Steve’s. “Yeah, you were built to serve humans. I want you to have some freedom from that, to separate yourself as your own person.”

And, in a dark part of him that he wouldn’t admit, Bucky knew it couldn’t be done, not completely. Because Steve was a persocom, not a human and never would he be.

Steve, desperate to argue knowing his place in society, only put his other hand on Bucky’s face. Neither spoke, their eyes not connecting.

When he couldn't stand the tension any longer, Bucky tried to unravel himself from Steve’s embrace. He soon discovered that Steve wasn’t letting him go. He was actually bringing him closer. “Steve? What’s—”

Steve’s eyes were cloudy. His hand lowered to Bucky’s neck and around to his nape. His mouth moved, but no words came out.

“Steve, hey! Stop!”

Bucky’s shouting brought Steve back with a jolt. The luster had returned to his eyes. He released Bucky that instant, who took several steps back. “I’m so sorry.” Steve stared at his hands. “What did I do?”

Bucky gaped at him. “You...don’t remember?”

“After I touched you, I blacked out. My memory...Something went wrong, the data files got corrupted.” Steve rubbed his forehead, his expression screwed in confusion. “I must have crashed. I’m so sorry, Bucky.”

“But you’re all right? Were those files backed up?” Bucky asked, treading cautiously to him. “Fuck, should I have been checking your CPU or—”

“This isn’t your fault,” Steve said, “it’s mine. I should be better than this.” He hung his head. “I’ll restart, and create a stronger firewall. I won’t let this happen again.”

“...Okay.”

Bucky didn’t know much about computers, but he was certain Steve’s crash wasn’t normal. Steve acted like when he was first switched on, ignorant to Bucky’s body language. What Steve was saying in his daze also warranted an investigation. Through his military training Bucky could read lips, and Steve had been repeating the phrase “Who is the one that is ‘special’ to you?” Not to mention that Steve had tugged him close enough to kiss...

Bucky covered his mouth. _Nope, not now._

He observed Steve close his eyes as he began the process of rebooting. Bucky put a hand on Steve’s shoulder. They hadn’t been together long, and still the notion of Steve breaking was one Bucky couldn’t stand.

That a machine was getting him so worried would have made Bucky’s past self disgusted. No, Steve wasn’t just a machine. Steve was...

Bucky had to turn away. That was enough dwelling on things he couldn’t, or maybe didn’t want, to make sense of. _Wish humans could reboot,_ he thought. _There’s something wrong with me, too._

* * *

Though Steve insisted many times that he was feeling better, no data had gotten lost and he had made stronger protective measures, Bucky still wanted to stay home from work to check on him.

“Please don’t fret over me,” Steve said, all but pushing Bucky to the door. “I’ll be fine.”

“Contact me if there’s anything off, not matter how small.”

“I will, right away.”

“And keep practicing your drawing.”

“I will. Have a nice day!”

* * *

Steve’s blackout exhausted Bucky’s mind all morning, if any of Steve’s parts were failing, if it was ordinary for a persocom to crash. It became such a disturbance that he found an empty conference room and called the SHIELD Help Center on his cell.

After selecting “speak directly to a representative”, and fidgeting through the obnoxious jingle, the call went through. “Good morning, my name is Maria, thank you for...oh, Mr. Barnes! Pleasant to see you calling again.”

“Hi, Maria. Are you the only person they trust the phones with?” Bucky said, glad to hear her voice. “How was your vacation?”

“You’d be surprised, and not long enough. What can I do for you?”

“Last night, Steve—I mean my persocom just stopped working. He said his memory data got corrupted, and he couldn’t recall anything he did in that time.”

“Have you downloaded any unauthorized third-party software on him, or customized him physically?” Maria asked.

“No, nothing at all. I haven’t even changed his parameter files.”

“Not even that, huh.” Maria let out a breath. “Persocoms can crash like any other computer if they’re overloaded or get a virus, but I’ve never seen a Captain that new go haywire on its own. Did you see the crash as it was happening?”

“His eyes got dark, and he wouldn’t hear me, and...he was trying to say something. His lips were moving, but there wasn’t any sound.”

Bucky heard a creak, like Maria was leaning back in her chair. “Very strange. If there’s been no kind of personal modification...You’ve tried using the internet, right?”

“Yeah, he’s made searches himself.”

“That might be it. Certain websites or keywords have been known to trigger glitches, but with a Captain...And did he say he had it under control?”

“He told me afterwards that he was fine, that he got a better firewall.” Bucky tightened his fist. “I’m just...concerned about him.”

“I’d believe him. Persocoms can’t lie, and gen nines have the strongest antivirus software on the market, so he should be prepared if the snag continues.”

“What kind of data could get corrupted?”

“It’s really difficult to say what’s been affected without a scan. It could really be anything, the basic apps, auto files, personality—”

“His personality?” Bucky wasn't aware he was yelling.

“Yes. Even if it does, you could always reset the levels and wipe your persocom’s memory of the incident.” Maria waited for a response, but didn’t receive one. “Mr. Barnes, are you there?”

Icy fear shot through Bucky’s veins. He had never been that scared, not even on the battlefield. That Steve could suddenly not be Steve anymore terrified him more than a stadium full of fireworks.  

_I don’t want to lose him, I can’t lose him. There’s no way._


	3. \PROCESSING DATA

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things get better, then worse, then better. Feelings are tested and realized.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Major content warning will be indicated with an A/N
> 
> Betaed by the amazing [Romance](https://volume2chapter2x.tumblr.com)!

_‘Who is the one that is “special” to you? Who is “the one just for you”?’_

The voice ricocheted against Steve’s hard drive. It was louder now that he was alone. The tone was light and clear, familiar in a way he couldn’t comprehend. Try as he might, with all his advanced programing, he couldn’t force it away from his mechanical mind.

This wasn’t an isolated episode. He had ignored it in the past, blocking it as easily as he would a website pop-up. And now all he was able to process was its incessant calling.

He noticed something amiss the day he turned on, when Bucky talked to him for the first time. Retracing his memory files, he could discern a gap, a tiny blank space, in his data after Bucky told him “hi”. The gap took place again later that night after Bucky’s panic attack, followed by his notion of somehow being internally changed. Until then Steve had regarded the data lapses as a service hiccup. Now he could perceive the earlier presence of the voice, beckoning him to answer. The latest time, before Steve’s crash yesterday, was when Natasha gave her warning. It happened fast, microseconds, and Bucky had been there to pull him out of it, so he didn’t think to probe it further.

Steve knew full well that this wasn’t ordinary for a persocom of his caliber. He must have picked up an error. Where he picked it up was the issue. SHIELD would never sabotage their own products, and he hadn’t come into direct contact with any outside programmers since he had been turned on.

_‘Who is the one that is “special” to you?’_

“Special”? What did they mean? What could they possibly want?

Fed up, and using all his energy, Steve banished the voice from his drive. Its sound faded dimmer and dimmer, then into nothingness. His frame relaxed, his power spent as he collapsed into a chair.

Steve had to tell Bucky, it wasn’t fair to keep him in the dark. Steve had told him the truth at the time when he said the situation was taken care of. With its persistence, he could guarantee the voice would return. The worst thing Steve could do was cause Bucky pain, and he’d already dealt so much damage. Bucky deserved a working persocom, not one rife with problems.

Bucky, his owner, who had kept him around despite his many ruinous indiscretions. Bucky, who cared about his well-being, and encouraged him to have his own identity. Steve knew he wasn’t worthy of Bucky’s generosity, and yet he still wanted to be with him. Steve wanted him to be happy, to smile. Was it his compulsion as a persocom to strive for Bucky’s welfare? Or Bucky’s affection?

After sitting for a while, Steve got up and retrieved the notebook left on the window ledge. If anything, he could fulfill his promise. He opened to his drawing, and grinned back at the Bucky on the page. He traced the pen lines of his face.

_Who is ‘the one just for me’?_

* * *

Steve leaped to the door as soon as he heard Bucky’s footsteps down the hall. “Welcome home, Bucky,” he said as Bucky walked inside the apartment. “How are you?”

Bucky was trying to smile, and falling through. “I’m not sure.”

“Can I do anything? Or do you want space?”

“No.” Bucky wrapped his arms around Steve, burying his face in his shirt.

Steve hugged him delicately in return. “Bucky?”

“Don’t. Let me hold you,” Bucky said. “I need this. Just for a moment.”

* * *

“Bucky, I need to tell you why I shut down yesterday.” Steve had made a valiant effort all evening to confront him about the issue, but Bucky had only tuned him out. “Please, just listen to me.”

A movie was playing in the darkened room, “Mars Attacks” or something, Bucky wasn’t paying attention. “Yeah,” he said to the colors on the screen.

“There’s a...I’m not even sure what it is, but it’s been causing me to lose stretches of memory. A voice—”

Bucky faced him. “But you’ve made copies of your memories? You still remember everything since we’ve met?”

“Of course, I make backups everyday.” Steve smiled. “I would never let that get erased, never.”

Bucky felt the weight from his phone call with Maria lift from his shoulders. _Thank god._

“There’s more than the data lapses. A voice echoes inside me. I’ve researched every past malfunction a persocom can have, and nothing remotely covers what I’ve experienced.”

“Do you have this under control?” Bucky asked carefully.

“I’ve pushed it back for the time being.” Steve paused. “It’s likely that it will come again. I’m sorry I’ve failed you.”

“We’ll get you looked at, then. Tomorrow, after work.” Bucky clasped Steve’s hand, his own trembling. “And then we’ll go to that gallery. You’ll be fine. It’ll all work out.”

“I know. Thank you, Bucky.”

The quirky alien sounds of the movie filled the air, until Steve sang, “Take me out tonight. Oh, take me anywhere.”

Bucky squeezed his hand. “I don’t care, I don’t care, I don’t care.”

* * *

The scan of Steve’s hard drive brought them no closer to solace. The entire tech support squad at Ross Repairs found nothing out of place. Steve’s components were in pristine condition with no evidence of tampering or interference.

“No, this is a good thing,” Bucky said on the train afterward, his tone too upbeat. “This narrows it down. We know for sure nobody’s messed with you. We just have to be prepared for it next time. Maybe it won’t even happen again.”

“You’re right,” Steve replied, going along with him.

“Swear that you’ll tell me if it does?”

“I swear on my lifespan.”

* * *

The two came to Clover at a quarter past seven, with twenty minutes until it closed (“Bucky, it’s a waste of time.” “I said we were going, so we’re going”). The lights were already being muted creating an eerie sensation in the wide open rooms. They were the only ones around, save for the ticket man at the front desk.

Bucky practically dragged Steve down the hall. “That painting was near the stairwell...here it is!” They came to a halt in front of “Spring at the Russo Villa”. Steve’s admiring smile resumed at seeing it, and Bucky was flooded with delight at his happiness.

“Thank you for taking me,” Steve said. “I will repay you for this.”

“Forget it, this gives me an excuse to get more cultured. You said this was Impressionism?”

“Yes, you can tell by the thin brushstrokes and the lighting, see?” Steve gestured to the flowers and the wispy blue of the sky. “It was painted in eighteen seventy-five in Paris, France by Sally Eber, her eleventh oil painting. The women in the garden are her younger sisters.”

“You’ve done your research.”

Steve and Bucky looked behind them to see the ticket seller. He was an older gentlemen in a dark suit. His brown hair was thinning, and he wore a kind smile. His hands were folded behind his back as he got closer to the painting. “It’s the pride of Clover. Had to pull a lot of strings to display it here.”

“You wouldn’t be the curator, would you?” Bucky asked.

“I would,” the man replied. “Phil Coulson, it’s good to meet you both.”

“You can call me Bucky, and this is Steve.”

“I’m his persocom,” Steve added, and nodded politely. “It’s a pleasure, sir. Clover has an outstanding selection.”

“I’m sorry we’ve come so last minute, Mr. Coulson,” Bucky said. “We won’t stay too long.”

“Phil, please. And it’s no trouble at all. If I remember correctly, you two were here last Sunday?”

“That was us,” Bucky told him. “That’s when Steve discovered his passion for art. He’s a budding artist himself. Look out, he’ll have his own wing here someday.”

“That’s a vast exaggeration. I’ll never be near that level of talent,” Steve contended.

“Oh, really?” Phil’s smile grew wider. “Now Steve, do you have any more information on Eber’s work?”

Steve stalled by glancing to Bucky, who urged him on with the wave of his hand. “Eber went on to make three more oil paintings, and dozens of sketches that were released to the public. She...died of pneumonia when she was only twenty-two. She never achieved the recognition of her fellow Impressionists.”

“Such a misfortune,” Phil commented to the painting. “Eber could have done much more with her gift.”

"She would have been one of the greats of the era.”

“Undoubtedly, a waste to the world. There’s the limit of success with all things: death or deterioration can always snatch it away.” Phil turned his gaze to Steve and Bucky. “If I’m not being too forward for asking, Bucky, would you consider Steve helping me at Clover?”

“Like as an assistant?” Bucky said.

“Exactly that. I’ve been running the gallery without a proper computer system for far too long, and now that it’s midsummer the crowds will get bigger. I’d love to employ someone who also feels just as passionate about what we’re exhibiting. What do you say?”

“You hear that, Steve? You got a job offer!” Bucky clapped Steve on the back. “Now you don’t have to be cooped up in the apartment all day.”

Steve only blinked, at a loss for words. “It’s okay, Bucky?”

“My permission is duly given. Would you like you work here?”

“Yes.”

“Then, it’s settled. Thanks so much, Phil.”

“Yes, thank you for the opportunity, sir,” Steve said. “I’ll work my hardest.”

“No, thank you!” Phil shook their hands. “Welcome to the team.”

* * *

Wednesday morning was more spirited than usual, since both Steve and Bucky had places to go.

“I’m sorry for borrowing your clothes so frequently,” Steve mentioned, seeming a bit uncomfortable in one of Bucky’s nicer work shirts and pants (which were two sizes too small).

“You can’t wear a t-shirt and jeans. We’ll buy clothes that fit with your gallery cash soon.” Bucky pulled the loop of Steve’s tie, adjusting it to his collar. “Remember not to raise your arms too high, the sleeves’ll rip clean off.”

“I won’t.”

Bucky leaned back, looking Steve head to toe. “Perfect. You’re gonna do great today.”

“I’m wishing the same for you,” Steve said. “Thank you, Bucky.”

They stared at each other, both slightly awkward. “Steve, you haven’t heard that voice again since Sunday?” Bucky asked.

“Not a hint of it.” Steve grinned, triumphant. “You were correct, it might be gone for good.”

“Can you tell me what it was...Never mind.”

“‘What it was saying’, you mean?”

Bucky smiled. “I don’t want to know. I’ll ask again when I do.” He touched Steve’s hand. “Just tell me if you hear it, even if I’m at work. Don’t keep it to yourself.”

Steve laced their fingers. “As soon as I know.”

* * *

Bucky threw himself hard into his work that day, keeping himself diverted from thoughts of Steve. Steve could take care of himself, he could handle it. There wasn’t any danger of Steve being altered, he’d said multiple times that his memories hadn’t been deleted.

_Stop. He’s having a good time at Clover. There’s business reports to categorize._

Lunchtime brought a respite to his restless mind, as Bucky met Sam outside on the roof.

“Sorry for not getting back to you earlier, Sam,” Bucky said. “I’ve been distracted the past couple days.”

Sam chuckled as he cut into his sandwich. “No problem. I’ve had my share of ‘distracted’, I could tell you didn’t want to talk.”

“It’s not about that. There’s been some problems with Steve. Like, with his drive. We’re getting along fine. But it’s fine.”

Sam gave him a look. “You’ve really gotten involved with your persocom,” he said. “I’d be careful, Buck.”

“I know, I know, it’ll end tragically. I can be upset that he’s not running as he should, can’t I? He’s—” Bucky’s grip on his plastic spoon snapped it in half. “Fuck.”

“Tell you what,” Sam started, “come out with me and the sales guys this Friday, and leave Steve at home. One night to yourself. Is that still doable?”

Sam was right. Bucky needed to step away from Steve, even for a night, to sort out his feelings. “Yeah.” He grinned. “Okay, let’s do it.”

* * *

When Bucky came home, he found Steve waiting outside the front door. “Welcome home, Bucky!”

“Shit, how long were you standing out there?” Bucky said as he led them in the apartment.

“One hour, thirteen minutes, and fifty-one seconds,” Steve answered. “It wasn’t a bother. How was your day?”

“You first.”

“Phil went over some protocol for dealing with the new artists and planning events, and then he had me look at the website. It was such a good experience.”

“Sounds like you had fun.”

“I did, thank you. And not a trace from the voice at all.”

“Great!” Bucky’s smile wavered. “Um. I spoke with Sam today. He asked me to go to a bar this week with some people from work. Just me this time, though.”

Steve’s expression didn’t change. “You want to go?”

“Sure.”

“I’m so glad! You should have an amazing outing.”

Bucky studied him, searching for a hint of dejection. “You’re not upset?”

“Why would I be upset?” Steve questioned. “I’m a persocom, Bucky. My purpose is to improve your life, not occupy it.”

* * *

The week continued without a hitch. Peggy and Sam had no complaints for Bucky. The voice had yet to surface again.

At the end of their work day on Friday, Bucky met Sam outside the building. “Booze awaits!” Sam said, leading the way.

The bar was local, a few blocks from the office, called Cat’s Eye. Packed with people, the beat of the music could be heard down the street. Sam waited for Bucky to calm himself before they went in.

_And in the darkened underpass, I thought, oh god, my chance has come at last._

“You’re good?” Sam asked him discreetly.

Bucky nodded, he could do it. “I got this.”

Riley and Scott were at the counter, along with a woman and two other men Bucky didn’t recognize. Sam introduced them to him as Jessica, Luke, and Matt, friends from other departments.

“I’ll take a jack and coke,” Sam told the bartender. “And you, Buck? Drinking tonight?”

“I’ll stick with water, thanks,” Bucky said.

Bucky allowed himself to have fun. He allowed himself to laugh, to loosen up around new people, and make friends. And despite all that, he could feel something empty inside, a piece of him missing.

He willed himself to stay as long as the group did, then turned in for the night when they decided to hop to the next bar. His head was unclouded by alcohol, but nonetheless in disarray.

* * *

Steve was in sleep mode, his eyes closed, his hands on his knees when Bucky got home. Bucky shut the door as quietly as he could, and tiptoed around the couch to get to his room.

His stride got slower in front of Steve, and finally he stopped. He found his fingers moving to Steve’s face. His chest tightened. _It’s back._

Suddenly they were face to face, as near to each other as when Steve was compromised. Their lips could have brushed if Bucky inched just a little closer.

_No._ Bucky let his eyes shut, savoring the warmth coming off Steve’s body.

_No, stop..._ Just a little closer.

_He’s a persocom. Get away from him. Now._

Bucky’s own voice in his head won him over. He dashed from the living room into his bedroom, and slammed the door behind him, his back against its frame. He didn’t realize how fast he had gone until his breath came out in gasps. The ache in his chest had never been worse. Now another painful throb was throwing him off, this one below his belt.

He couldn’t put blame on alcohol, or coffee, or unsteady emotions from a panic attack. Bucky headed to the bathroom to dowse himself in a cold shower. He couldn’t accept it, not ever. Not even when his body was spelling it out for him.

_Who is the one that is ‘special’ to you?_

* * *

“Steve, do you keep records of when you’re asleep?” Bucky kept his gaze on the frying eggs.

Steve watched him from the kitchen table. “I can’t. I would need to be given surveillance software to do it.”

“So until you wake up, you don’t remember anything during the night?”

“Correct. My program will override if I sense that you are in distress, but otherwise my sleep mode mimics that of a human’s. Is something bothering you?”

Bucky prodded the eggs with a spatula. “No, that’s...good to know. Thanks.”

* * *

Days became weeks. Carter Pharmaceuticals carried on as usual. Bucky began to have his lunches with Sam’s lively friends. All spare pages of Bucky’s college notebooks were filled, back to front, with sketches documenting the apartment and the streets beneath (“So realistic!” “Thank you, I still have a long way to go”). Steve told enthusiastic stories about the gallery and discussing art with Phil. The voice remained absent. And Bucky did his best to shut his feelings away.

On July thirty-first, Steve received his first paycheck to his immense pride. Bucky checked his bank statement after work that day and noticed the money transferred over.

“Please use it as you see fit,” Steve said, grinning ear to ear.

“What are you talking about?” Bucky replied with a laugh. “It’s your money. We should spend it on you.”

“My payment costs are steep. If that can help in any way...”

“I’m getting by. You earned this, Steve. I wouldn’t dream of using it for myself. Actually...” Bucky rummaged underneath the couch. “Since this is such a fine occasion,” he unearthed a gift bag, “I got you a present.”

“Bucky, you didn’t—”

“Too late.” Bucky handed it to him. “It’s kinda early, it was supposed to be for your one month anniversary next Tuesday, but I couldn’t keep it any longer.” He smiled. “You have no idea how hard it was to sneak by you.”

Steve looked down at the bag. “Bucky, I...”

“Tell me after you open it, c’mon!” Bucky spurred him.

“All right.” Steve rifled through the gift paper. “Bucky...” He pulled out a sketchbook and a set of pencils.

“I got them at that craft store on East Vine. Wasn’t sure about the brand quality.”

“They’re wonderful. You didn’t have to.”

“But I did. Check the bottom of the bag, there’s one more thing.”

Steve took out a small drawstring pouch. Inside it was a key. “Is this...?”

“Yep, a spare for the apartment, so you don’t have to wait outside for me anymore. Not that I don’t enjoy seeing you, but...” Bucky felt his cheeks redden.

“Thank you so much.” Steve clutched the key. “I’ll keep it safe.”

In a way, giving the key to Steve was Bucky’s ultimate sign of trust. Steve had the freedom to go and come as he wished, persocom or not, and Bucky had the confidence in Steve returning. It was the last of Bucky’s defences, there was no going back.

Bucky heard him say “thank you” again as Steve enveloped him in a hug. _He’s always so nice and warm._ Bucky held him tighter. His eyes closed.

_I don’t want this to ever go away._   

* * *

They ordered several new outfits for Steve from an online store (“What about this one?” “Whichever you choose would be efficient.” “Ugh”). When they arrived, Steve tried them on to test the fit. “Do they look adequate?” he asked, wearing a simple jacket and pants.

“Much improvement!” Bucky said, clapping. “You’re not bursting at the seams, a SHIELD advertisement, or a walking propaganda poster.”

“You’ve done so much for me.” Steve softly took Bucky’s hand. “I can never thank you enough. If there’s anything else I can do, anything at all, please let me know.”   

Bucky chased away the stir in his chest. “I will.”  

* * *

Peggy briefly paused at Bucky’s desk on her way to her office.

“What’d I do?” Bucky asked.

“Nothing.” She tilted her head, her arms folded. “Lately you’ve been more relaxed. And friendly. Made any recent changes?”

Bucky smiled. “Something like that.”

* * *

“Fargo” was approaching its middle act. Steve and Bucky had their hands to themselves, but their legs were touching at the knee.

“Do you believe in other universes?” Bucky asked him.

“As in dimensions outside of ours?” Steve said.

“Yeah. Do you think it’s possible for them to exist?”

“Well, anything can be a feasible in some capacity. With the untapped potential of space travel and parallel multiverse hypotheses...Haha, I’m rambling, aren’t I? Yes, I think they can.”

“A parallel world to ours. Maybe in it you’re human, too. And we meet, and we’re friends.” Bucky rested his head on Steve’s shoulder.

Steve leaned his head against Bucky’s. Their hands folded together. “That would be nice.”

* * *

The peace couldn’t last. It was a matter of time.

It began as a normal Thursday in mid August. Steve had the day off, and was saying goodbye to Bucky before he left. “Have a great day!”

“Thanks. You should go by Prospect, get some fresh air.”

“That would be a nice place to draw, all the architecture and waterways.”

“Even better.” Bucky took a step out the entrance, paused, then stepped back and closed the door. “Steve, I...” His face felt like it was burning.

“Yes?” Steve said.

“...No, it’s nothing. Forget it.” Bucky grinned, turning to the door. “Bye.”

“Goodbye.” And with that, Steve was left by himself.

No more than a half hour later, while Steve was busy sketching a stray cat outside, the holo-screen rang. The sender’s information popped up in a screen, “The New York Post: Main Office”. Steve set down his sketchbook, glancing at the device as it proceeded to toll.

Eventually, the ringing ceased and the screen collapsed. Another screen came up soon after notifying a voicemail. “Good morning, Mr. Barnes,” the message said. “My name is Lorraine Dormer, from The New York Post. I was wondering if you’d be interested in sharing a comment on the current status of Brock Rumlow? Please feel free to call back at your earliest convenience. Thank you.”

Six more voicemails, all similarly phrased from different news columns, were recorded that morning. All concerned Brock Rumlow.

A chill rattled Steve’s drive. Options of what to do spun through his circuits. Should he contact Bucky at work, make sure he was okay? Would that worry Bucky unnecessarily? Should he search the news on this Rumlow to assess the connection to Bucky? Never, that would betray Bucky’s trust.

Steve forced himself to calm. Bucky needed him to be level-headed. Maybe the best thing he could do was wait. Whenever Bucky came home, Steve would be there and willing to listen.

* * *

After being in the news spotlight, Bucky was able to tell when people were talking about him. It happened on the train and on the streets, but not once in the office (likely due to Peggy’s influence).

Even now his co-workers weren’t gossiping about him, however much they likely wanted to. Instead they threw him quick pitiful glimpses throughout the morning to Bucky’s puzzlement. _What could they be stunned about now? They knew what happened._ Peggy was on holiday with her family that week, so he couldn’t ask her for information, and like hell he’d drill co-workers.

Bucky found out that afternoon.

Sam came over to his desk, frowning. “You okay?” he whispered.

“I’m not sure, depends who’s being asked,” Bucky said, narrowing his gaze at the office. “What’s going on?”

Sam’s expression became just as perplexed as Bucky’s “You don’t know? You don’t know...Fuck. Come with me.”

He showed the way to an unused conference room, and locked the door. “You might want to sit down for this, Buck. It’s not pretty.”

Bucky flopped down in one of the office chairs. “Try me.”

Sam pulled out his cell, did a quick search, and held it sideways for Bucky to see. It was a news article, dated from late last night. Bucky didn’t read far. He saw the words “Brock Rumlow”, and “bail”, and “Winter Soldier trial”.

“Buck?” Sam shook the chair. “How’re you doing?”

Bucky stared straight ahead, not even focusing on the screen. He felt like his gut had been punched. His head was swimming. He was shaking so hard, he couldn’t form his hands into fists. “I’m...I...”

He stood up. “I have to go. Tell Vision, or whoever’s in charge. I need to go home.” Bucky didn’t catch Sam’s answer as he made a break from the room.

He hoped, prayed, Steve was still at the apartment. Steve would help, he always helped.

* * *

(A/N: the below scene contains averted non-con, nothing graphic/explicit and it's stopped before things go far, but it still happens. This will not be swept under the rug, the aftermath will deal with the regret)

Steve heard the clattering run of Bucky’s footfalls outside the door, and sprang from his seat to rush over to it.

Bucky was fixated on the ground as he walked in. He set down his bag, and flexed his fingers.

“Bucky?” Steve was standing about three feet away, he didn’t want to alarm him. “Can I do anything for you?”

Bucky grinned to floor, then looked to Steve with vacant eyes. He padded up to him, the gap between them gone.

Steve stayed firm. “Bucky?”

Bucky touched Steve’s face with both hands, feeling the warmth on his metal one. He smiled. He descended along Steve’s neck to the collar of his shirt. He traced the edge of the fabric.

Grabbing the shirt, drawing Steve down, Bucky’s lips collided with Steve’s. His mouth forced Steve’s to comply and open, his yearning finally realized.

Steve was torn by the action. His programming willed him to obey, to yield to the kiss, and something else entirely was telling him to...

He gripped Bucky by the shoulders, and thrust them apart. “Bucky, what’s wrong? Why are you acting like this?”

Bucky gave him a glazed look, breathing heavily. He wiped the saliva from his mouth on his sleeve.

“Please, let me know what’s happened. You need to tell me. I can help.”

At Steve’s last sentiment, Bucky’s eyes widened. He took Steve’s arm and spoke, “Come here.”

Bucky guided him passed the kitchen, passed the living room, and opened his bedroom door.

Steve, reluctant, tried to step out. “Bucky?”

Bucky only pulled him in rougher, more determined, and shut the door with a bang.

“Please, Bucky. I can look it up myself if you don’t want to talk, just tell me why you’re doing this.”

Bucky paid Steve no heed as he removed his own jacket, and threw it to the floor. Next went his shoes and socks. He finally acknowledged Steve with the seize of his shirt again. “I want you to fuck me. Right now.”

“Bucky, no,” Steve pleaded. “We shouldn’t.” He noticed Bucky undoing his shirt buttons, and pushed him off. “Stop this!”

“You said ‘anything you could do’, ‘anything to help’.” Bucky began shrugging out his own shirt.

“Not like this, we can’t.” Steve shuffled toward the door, and was countered by Bucky tugging him back.

“What’s so hard for you to understand? Who was the one trying to jump me the first time we met?”

“That was a grave mistake. This will be a bigger one. Please, Bucky.”

Bucky silenced him with another kiss. His hand lingered on the button on Steve’s pants, and popped it open.

Steve shoved him away, holding him at arm’s length. “No!”

Bucky scowled, he couldn’t wriggle out of Steve’s grasp. He glanced around the room, when he noted where they were standing and a plan began to form. As opposed to pressing forward, Bucky threw himself back.

“What are y—” The unexpected movement threw off Steve’s balance, and brought them crashing down on the bed with Steve on top of Bucky.

Bucky arched his body, his mouth connecting with Steve’s. His fingers dug into Steve’s back. He let slip a tender moan.

Steve broke the kiss. “Bucky, no!” He tried to sit up but Bucky persisted to drag him down, his legs wrapped around Steve’s waist.

“Take me,” Bucky said in between his gasping breaths. He yanked Steve’s shirt, and the fabric relented, exposing the skin of Steve’s chest. Bucky ghosted over the synthetic flesh. “Do it for me...I need this.”

“No, you do not!” Steve pinned Bucky’s wrists to the mattress with his elbows bent back. “We can’t...I can’t do this.”

Bucky’s body went slack. “No.” The rejection sunk in. “No...”

Steve released himself from Bucky’s limbs, and sat beside him on the bed.

Bucky’s eyes watered as he stared at the ceiling, his wrists stuck in place. His head shook back and forth. “You’re a...You’re...”

He gritted his teeth. He sat up, glaring at Steve. “That’s a fucking order! You have to listen to me!” His words were venom, pure anger. “You’re just a machine, you don’t have feelings!”  

“No. But you do, and I don’t want to cause you greater pain.” Steve draped a bedsheet over Bucky’s shoulders. “I’m sorry.”

Bucky’s rage vanished, spent up, leaving him drained. He looked at Steve, then to the sheet he was cloaked in. He gripped the edges of it, tugging it closer around him. His fingers trembled. “I...Oh god. Steve, I...”

Bucky fell to the bed on his side, covering his face with his hands. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, Steve. I didn’t mean—” He choked. “I didn’t mean it.”

“It’s okay, Bucky.” Steve reached to touch him, but withdrew his hand. “How are you feeling?”

Bucky stayed face down. “Not good. I'm so sorry.”

“What would you like me to do?”

“Stay,” Bucky replied. “Please don’t go.”

“I’ll be right here.”

Hours crawled by. Neither one of them talked or moved. The light from the bathroom window slowly waned, casting shadows on the mattress.

“Steve, you’re still there?” Bucky peered up to him.

“Yes, I am. How are you?”

Bucky got up on the bed. He clung to the sheets around him. “I’m...not fine. A little better.”

Steve smiled with relief. “That’s good, I’m so glad. Can I do anything?”

Bucky gulped. “I want to tell you. Why I am the way I am.”

“You’re certain, Bucky?” Steve asked. “There’s no pressure to do this.”

Bucky nodded. “All this time, I’ve tried to put it aside. Now I have to accept it. I can’t...heal without doing that.” He took a deep breath, exhaled, and began.

“It was two years ago. By then, I was in the army for four. I was stationed in Russia for three. Wasn’t bad, I made some really great friends...” Bucky smiled, which quickly faded from his lips. “You said you had current events installed. Have you heard of HYDRA?”

“Yes, I have,” Steve said. “They are a budding extremist sect responsible for dozens of deaths in the name of global cleansing.”

“That’s right.” Bucky held himself tighter. “We were on a mission in the Siberian wasteland, the first of January. Supposed to be just a quick one, surveillance of an old training compound. ‘Suspected terrorist activity’. Well, they were fucking right. There were eleven of us. I thought it was fishy, that many to check an area the size of a couple football fields, but didn’t question it. I should’ve. Wouldn’t have done anything, I guess.

We were on the grounds for maybe an hour. The snow was hitting hard. We found nothing suspicious. Ruml—”

Bucky cringed, knowing where the story was leading to. His heart pounded in his ears. His eyes closed. “Driving in your car, I never never want to go home.”

“Because I haven't got one. I haven't got one,” Steve concluded. “You’re okay, Bucky. You’re safe.” He looked to Bucky’s quaking hands. “Can I touch you?”

“...Yeah.”

Steve stoked Bucky’s fingers, before lacing them together with own. “You’re okay. I’m here. I won’t let anything happen to you.”

“I...know.” Bucky clenched Steve’s hand. “R...Rumlow, he wanted us to give him our communication channels. Said his was giving him the wrong data, and he wanted to check all of ours to be sure. Didn’t sound right to me, or anyone else in the group. But he was a First Lieutenant and commanding officer, I was just a Sergeant. I felt like I had to listen. So I fell for the bait, and convinced the others on the team to do the same. It was all an ambush, of course.” Bucky’s voice croaked. He cleared his throat.

“There were snipers hidden in the wreckage. HYDRA killed four of our squad, all at once. Then twenty, twenty-five of them came out. They surrounded the remaining six of us. We got knocked to the snow with guns to our heads. And there Rumlow was, just standing above us and grinning. That fucker was a sleeper agent the whole time. One of the higher ranked officers I actually trusted. I believed him, I put everyone’s lives in his hands, and they got killed. If I never listened to that piece of shit, if I went with my instinct...they would all still be alive.” Bucky let out a crazed laugh.

“It wasn’t your fault, Bucky.” Steve cupped Bucky’s cheek with his other hand. “Please don’t think that.”

Bucky didn’t answer, biting his lip.

“Do you want to take a break?”

Bucky settled into Steve’s touch. “...No, I have to keep going. If I stop, I won’t want to finish.” He took another deep breath, and continued.

“I was still in shock. Tried to fight back, even with a gun at me, so I got...shot in the arm.” Bucky released Steve’s hand to touch the metal edge on his left shoulder. “That subdued me real fast. But that wasn’t good enough for them, so they took turns beating the shit out of us. Real fun.

“Then they took us into the main headquarters, lined us all up with our hands bound. They filmed us with the HYDRA symbol in the background, yelling in Russian that they wanted ransom for our safe return. I knew I was dead at that moment. No one was coming to save us. I’m sure the others felt the same. Tim Dugan, Jim Morita, Gabe Jones, Jacques Dernier, James Falsworth.” Bucky paused. “That was the last time I saw them.

“They split us in different rooms. I was there twelve days before I was rescued. The government wouldn’t bow to a threat from low tier terrorists. So they sent in a persocom to do the job, quick and dirty. Slaughtered almost all the HYDRA agents on the grounds. I was the one deemed with the highest chance to survive of those captured, so I made it out. That thing made the call to get the most urgent help for me.

“It wasn’t a hundred percent that I would even make it out of compound alive, I had just as much chance of dying as them. And yet because it computed that my survival rating was a couple percentage points higher, I won the lottery. They didn’t get that chance. It wasn’t fair. And despite all that, Rumlow’s still kicking. His face is messed up, but he’s still fucking out there, and...and...”

Bucky blinked, freeing the tears from his eyes. “I got my friends killed. I killed them, and I can’t do a thing to make up for it. It wasn’t directly, I know it’s not really my fault, and despite all that, when I saw their families...They called me ‘Winter Soldier’ in the press, said I was brave for surviving. But I wasn’t. Those guys wanted to live just as much.”   

Steve was quiet for a bit. “I’m sorry,” he said, his tone full of sorrow. He bowed his head. “You’ve been through such a devastating experience. I’ll never understand how much pain you’ve endured. I don’t know how to respond. I’m so sorry.”

The tears kept falling, and Bucky couldn’t get them to stop. He rubbed his cheeks, only making it worse. “Ste...ngh...” He surrendered to his sobs, his frame wracked with the deliverance of his repressed thoughts.

When his crying started to lighten, his breathing hitched but more controlled, Steve gently tilted Bucky’s head up to see him. “I don’t know what to say to you to make things better, although I do know this: I’m happy you survived, Bucky. I’m happy you’re still alive. And I’m happy I got to meet you. Thank you for telling me.” He pulled him into a hug.

At his place against Steve’s unclothed shoulder, Bucky could make out the blue tattoo signifying Steve as a Captain Rogers persocom. _It’s programming, all working off an algorithm,_ Bucky told himself, over and over, as his tears blurred his vision and he held Steve back.

Even with constructed feelings, Steve was giving him comfort, saying and doing things that soothed him. Steve was real to him.

* * *

Bucky woke up alone the next morning. He had been the one to suggest it, he knew it was for the best. What he did to Steve was inexcusable, regardless of his mental state at the time. Bucky didn’t deserve for him to be there through the night.

He trudged over to the bathroom mirror, his body stiff and achy from being curled up for so long. The reflection of him was ghastly. His hair was tousled, and his nose was red and running. His eyes were swollen from crying, and wet trails of tear marks streaked his face. He had changed into a t-shirt and sweatpants last night, thankful not to be dressed in his disheveled office clothes.

Bucky splashed water on his face and combed down his hair with his fingers, trying to seem as put together as he could manage. The buzz of his cell in his pants pocket intervened. He snagged a towel, and dried himself as he went to answer it. “Hello?”

It was Sam on the other end. “Hey, Buck. Hanging in there?”

“I think,” Bucky said, his voice groggy. He rubbed his throat. “Fuck, what time is it?”

“It’s ‘go-back-to-bed’ time,” Sam replied. “Called you in sick already. Thought you’d value a day off. Vision can suck it.”

Bucky smiled. “You’re the greatest, Sam. Thanks.”

“You’re very welcome. Maybe after work me and Nat could stop over, see how you’re doing?”

“That’d be nice. Looking forward to it.”

“Recharge your batteries. I’ll see you later.”

“Thanks again. Bye.”

Bucky couldn’t go back to sleep. He had to confront Steve with what he did. Try to make up for it, apologize in person at the very least.

He was almost afraid to come out of his room. On the other side of the door he could hear footsteps, so Steve must have been awake.

_And if a ten-ton truck...No, I’m not entitled to that._

He at last shut his eyes, grasped the doorknob and turned it, stumbling into the living room blind. What he saw when he opened his eyes took him aback.

Steve was in the kitchen hovering over a frying pan. He flicked it up off the stove (without an oven mitt), sending a trio of pancakes flipping in the air, almost to the ceiling. Frantically, he caught them before they hit the floor. “I think they’re cooked by now...Oh, good morning Bucky!”

Bucky jumped, registering that he had somehow gotten closer to the kitchen. “Um, g’ morning.”

“How are you today?”

“I...” Bucky’s chest was tightening. “I’m not completely okay.”

“All right.” Steve looked at the frying pan in his hand. “I’m sorry, I hope you don’t mind that I used your dishware and groceries.”

“No, that’s...that’s fine.”

Steve showed him inside the pan. “I made pancakes, your recipe. ‘Heat the pan with nonstick spray while you prepare the batter’, ‘wait for the bubbles to pop on the uncooked side before you flip’, and ‘never rush them’.” He grinned.

Bucky looked down at the flat golden brown surfaces. He fiddled with his hands. “They look perfect. Great job.” He gave Steve a strained smile in return.

“Thank you! Go ahead, sit down,” Steve scooted back a chair for him. “You have to try them.”

Bucky walked over to the table, his legs feeling like he was wading through mud, and sat.

“I’ll get you a plate. I know they won’t be as good as yours.” Steve halted on his way to the kitchen, and turned to Bucky. “You look pale, are you feeling sick, Bucky? How are your wrists?”

“My...”

“I tried not to press too hard on you. I’m very sorry.”

“Why are you still so...” Bucky’s eyes were tearing up again. He hastily wiped them. “I hurt you, not just with what I said. If you didn’t stop me, I could’ve—god, I don’t want to think of that...I was about to do something you shouldn’t forgive, being sorry doesn’t even cover it. But I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry Steve.”

Steve set aside the pan on the stove. “I know it was under stress—”

“That doesn’t matter!” Bucky shouted. “I still did it. What I told you last night, that was cruel. What I did was evil. You shouldn't act like nothing’s happened between us. I’m sorry.” His fists were tense, his gaze in his lap. He willed himself with every part of his being not to cry. “You should hate me.”

“Bucky.” Steve knelt to the ground, and took Bucky’s hand in his (that hadn’t been holding the pan). “I could never hate you.”

“You should. You really should. You shouldn't be near me...”

“Bucky, look at me.”

Bucky, shuddering, finally glanced up.

Steve smiled. “What you did, what you almost did, it’s over now. The only thing to do is move forward. I’ve forgiven you. What would you like to do?”

“‘What I’d like to do’...What do you mean by that?”

“You have many options to choose. For example, you could alter my memory to remove the incident as a form of peace—”

“No!” Bucky’s face flushed. “I-I meant, that’s cheating, it’s not fair to you. I couldn’t live with that. We should both...not forget this.” He rubbed his eyes, sniffed, and composed himself. “Sorry.”

“Okay, we won’t do that,” Steve said. “Would you still want me around?”

“Of course! But...” Bucky clutched Steve’s hand tight, and let it go. “I don’t think we should be close for a while. If I’m going to forgive myself, it’d be better not to touch until then.” He looked at his hands, then to Steve. “Is that wrong?”

“If it’s what you think is right, then we’ll do it. For as long as you need.” Steve stood, and went back to the stove. “In the meantime, there’s pancakes to taste test. They should still be hot, wait just a moment,” he said, tipping the pancakes onto a plate. “And I want your true opinion, no sugar-coating your review.”

“You got it,” Bucky replied. A sweet, encouraging warmth filled him. A sign that he’d recover, that him and Steve would be all right. “Thank you, Steve.”

* * *

Phone calls permeated the rest of the day. Bucky’s lawyer had left five panicky messages on his cell and two on his holo-screen, wondering where and how he was. He called them back, reassuring them that he was still alive.

“Wasn’t much we could do. Some rich fucker paid the bail money in cash, all ten million...He’s been warned not to approach you.”

“Uh huh.”

“Do you feel at risk? We could get you some security details, an alarm system.”

Bucky looked over to Steve, who was sitting attentively near his side. “I think I’ll be okay.”

“The trial is coming. I’d start preparing...Y’know what, focus on yourself right now. We’ll go over it all in my office. Text me when you’re ready to.”

“I will. Talk to you soon.” Bucky locked his phone, ending the call.

“The trial?” Steve said. “When is...Sorry, I don’t want to force you.”

“It’s fine. It’s later this year, November maybe. Got pushed back so much.” Bucky toyed with his cell. “Probably a good thing. Really wasn’t stable enough to testify. They want me to.”

“I’m sorry.” Steve kept his fingers folded to avoid reaching toward Bucky. “Is there anything I can do?”

“No.” Bucky resolved not to let Rumlow being on the loose consume him. It was out of his hands. “Just be here with me.”

* * *

Peggy rang Bucky’s holo-screen as he finished changing out of his sweats. “Glad to see you up and about.”

“’Morning, Peggy. Or I guess it’s not morning there, is it?”

She wore a formal red top with her hair in curls, and her makeup pristine. “It’s three in the afternoon. You’ve taken some time to process?”

“I have, a day and a half. Hope I have enough vacation days to cover it.”

“This is bigger than vacation days,” Peggy answered. “You know I don’t take these things lightly.”

“I’m aware.” Bucky grinned. “Thanks.”

* * *

The following call on Bucky’s cell an hour later was one he thought might never happen. His heart stopped when he saw the caller ID: Rebecca Barnes. “Hello? Rikki?”

She laughed, warm and nostalgic. “You haven't called me that since we were kids.”

“You used to get so mad, it was hilarious.”

“Yeah, my big bro was such a jerk...Oh. Um, sorry.”

“It’s okay. I know I was.”

“No, it’s...I wanted to see how you were doing. Saw it on my news feed. Is there anything I can...I’m sorry, if I wasn’t in Philly, I’d be...Fuck this assignment, I’m leaving now. Fuckin’ hotel doors.”

“Calm down,” Bucky said. “I’m still alive.”

“I’m packing. I’ll be there in a couple hours. I can—”

“Becca.”

“What?”

“Breathe. Don’t lose your job over me, I’ll be fine.”

“James, I’m sorry. This last year, I was so afraid to call. If I tried harder...” Rebecca faltered. “I wasn’t there for you.”

“I remember being the one pushing you away. I wanted to be alone, you did what I asked.”

“Still should’ve tried more.”

“It’s not your fault, Becca. I’ve never blamed you. I should be apologizing.”

“...From now on, can I be there?” Rebecca asked. “We can talk?”

“Any time,” Bucky told her. “I’ve missed you.”

“Missed you too, James.” Bucky could hear the smile in his sister’s voice. “More than you know.”

* * *

The evening was slow to come. Bucky wasn’t in the mood for board games or television; the stimulation made him tired, and brought up unkind images in his mind. He did end up going back to sleep on the couch, coming around only when the phone sounded off (usually reporters that he responded with “No comment”) or he felt hungry. Steve stayed close to him, not watching him slumber, but on alert if Bucky ever needed him.

“Don’t you have work today?” Bucky wondered as he chewed the crusts from his peanut butter sandwich.

Steve, with him at the table, said, “I called Phil, and let him know you were more important. He was very understanding.”

_I’m more important._ “Did you tell him about me?”

“I only said you were dealing with some difficult issues. Ah, yes, he also wanted me to wish you well.”

“Tell him ‘thank you’ from me tomorrow,” Bucky said, before taking a bite of sandwich.

“‘Tomorrow’? That would be Saturday. Will you be all right by yourself?” Steve asked.

Bucky swallowed, and gave Steve a grin. “I don’t have anything to worry about.”

* * *

True to his word, Sam appeared at Bucky’s door around six. Natasha and a fruit basket were with him in tow. “Nat and I thought we should bring something,” he said. “Everybody likes fruit? Maybe we should’ve gone with chocolate.”

“I love it, thanks guys.” Bucky put the basket on the counter, and chose a plum.

Natasha touched his shoulder. “Barnes, you’re okay? No joking?”

Bucky’s smile faded. “No. I’m not. But I’m working on it.”

They gathered in the living room, Sam and Natasha sitting on the couch and Bucky on the armchair.

“Want me to take him out for ya?” Natasha stated.

Bucky frowned. “What?”

“She’ll do it, you know,” Sam attested. “Just give her the go-ahead.”

“I’ll track that weaselly prick down and knock the shit out of him.” Natasha hit her palm with her fist, and looked to Sam.“You’ll help me, right babe?”

Sam nodded with a smirk. “Without a doubt.”

Bucky laughed. “I appreciate the thought. It’s not all the time, I admit, but I feel safe.”

“You should be. You’ve got that wall of muscle looking out for you,” Natasha said, smiling. “I’ve seen a gen two rip a man’s arm out of its socket without any effort. Think how much a gen nine can royally fuck someone up.”

Bucky’s grasp on the plum stiffened.

“Speaking of Steve,” Sam added, peeking around the room, “where is he?”

“He’s not here, because...” Bucky debated telling them the real answer.

After Bucky informed him that Sam and Natasha were coming, Steve recommended that he not be present. “I’m sure you’ve noticed how uncomfortable I make Natasha,” he had said. “I wouldn’t like to be the cause of any unease, especially since this visit is for your benefit.”

“You can’t, where would you go?” Bucky retorted.

“I’ll walk around the neighborhood for a couple hours, and bring my sketchbook.” Steve’s hands were at his side. He moved them out to Bucky, then swiftly folded his arms. “I’ll be fine. Like your lawyer said: ‘focus on yourself’.”

“Steve wanted to give me some space for us to talk,” Bucky said, accurate for the most part. “He’ll be back tonight.”

“You and him are okay, too?” Sam asked. “Didn’t you say there were technical issues some weeks ago?”

“It went away on its own,” Bucky replied. “He’s been...good.”

“And he’s been good to you through all of this?” Natasha questioned, her hands tightly cupped. “He hasn’t done anything out of character?”

“Not recently from him. I was the one screwed up in the head yesterday.” Bucky stared at the plum. “My mind wasn’t there.”

“That’s a common reaction, Buck,” Sam interjected. “Anyone in your situation would behave the same, if not worse. Nobody’s condemning you for it.”

“And neither are we.” Natasha nodded in agreement, putting her hand on Sam’s.

“I did react worse, did more than breakdown. I was about to...” Bucky dug his nails into his leg. “I almost did something to Steve I’d regret for an eternity. He stopped me in time. Then I said some really awful stuff.”

“Has he been hostile to you since?” Sam said.

“Not a bit, that’s the problem. This morning he said he forgave me. I wanted him to be at least a little upset.”  

“Wait,” Natasha cut in. “Barnes, you said he stopped you? As in refused what you told him?”

“Yeah?” Bucky hadn’t brooded on that aspect.

“Persocoms shouldn’t be able to do that.” On Natasha’s face was shock, maybe fear, her eyes full and her color fading. “They have to agree to any command by their owner. That’s...unusual.” Snapping out of her thoughts, she chuckled. “Sorry, forget what I said. Let’s move—”

“No, Nat. Keep going,” Bucky demanded. “Explain what’s so ‘unusual’.”

Natasha dropped her grin. She squeezed Sam’s hand, who squeezed hers back. “I’ll explain everything.”

“You’re sure?” Sam asked her.

Natasha rubbed their fingers. “It’s only fair.

“SHIELD employed me immediately after high school. My resume was getting past their security undetected. They had me work on testing surveillance and defensive combat measures for persocom use.

“My partner was a persocom, a second generation Hawkeye model. The dev team called him Clint. He specialized in long-range sight, as the other Hawkeyes were, for aiding in special op missions. He was old even when I started, and his hearing had to be modified frequently, but the team kept him around because they liked his personality. I liked him, too. He could throw banter, but he was serious when he needed to be. I’d forget he was a persocom, until he had to go back for repairs.

“I was at SHIELD for three years when I noticed signs. He was touchy with everyone, but he lingered on my arm just a bit more. And the way he looked at me...”

“Was how Steve looks at me,” Bucky said.

“That’s right. I’d never seen this behavior in a persocom. I let the dev team know, and they just told me they didn’t see any errors in his data. So I asked him in person, and he said he didn’t know what I was talking about. I ignored it for a long time, kept telling myself it was in my head.

“My suspicions were confirmed after a sparring match. When I turned to leave, he grabbed my arm to hold me back. He was confused, he had no idea know why he did it, saying he felt like he wanted to tell me something he couldn’t remember.

“The next day a newer Hawkeye model was in his place. They informed me that he got decommissioned, sent to be scrapped already. I complained to every higher-up I could manage, that he was different, he should be studied, and I got shut down. Didn’t stick around SHIELD much more after that. Couldn’t stomach what they swept under the rug.

“I was convinced for almost a year that I killed him, smothered by guilt. Then I realized I was mourning him as a person, when he was a machine made in a factory. I overstepped my boundaries by thinking he was human. His affection for me was artificial, but my sadness wasn’t.”

Natasha looked Bucky in the eyes. “I know you’re close to Steve. You gave him your best buddy’s name.”

Bucky stared back at her blankly. “How do you know about...?”

“Sorry, you’re pretty chatty when you’re drunk,” Natasha said with a small smile. “Steven Grant. You were friends when you were kids, when he—”

“He died,” Bucky finished, his throat getting dry. “Steven...was sick all the time, one thing or another, and he died. Way too young.”

“That’s why I got so concerned. I can tell Steve feels close to you, as well.” Natasha patted Bucky’s knee. “Barnes, you’re someone I truly care about. I wouldn’t wish this pain on my mortal enemies. Please. Think this out. How do you see him?”

* * *

Sam and Natasha left not long after their conversation. Bucky’s head was throbbing, he yearned for his bed. What he wanted more was to forget what he had learned about SHIELD and their persocoms.

_How do I see Steve? I care for him, sure. But, is it really—_

His thoughts were interrupted by the holo-screen. Bucky didn’t expect to see Tony Stark’s name pop up as he hit “Accept” and sat down at the kitchen table. “Tony, what’s the occasion?”

“I can’t call in on one of my best customers?” Tony said. “For serious, I wanted to check how you were doing in the light of that bullshit.”

“I’m all right, thanks,” Bucky replied. “Not much I can do.”

“That’s another reason why I called...” Tony zoomed out the camera screen, showing a wider extent of his studio. “Here’s something you might have more say in.” He swiped his hand, which brought up projections of charts and readouts with scribbled notes crammed in between.

“What are those from?” Bucky asked. A bad feeling crept in.

“These are what J.A.R.V.I.S. was able to pick up from your persocom,” Tony answered, poking at a line graph. “Gave him a quick scan before he left the shop. Quick, but illuminating.”

Bucky gripped the table edge. “You did what?”

“Nothing intrusive, I swear. J.A.R.V.I.S. was very gentle, weren’t you?”

“My humblest apologies, Master Barnes,” J.A.R.V.I.S. chimed in. “I am programmed to survey anything that comes inside Stark Industries.”

“Wasn’t going to look into it, but it kept itching on my brain.” Tony enlarged another chart with the flick of his fingers. “As I was saying, even with the one day snapshot, very illuminating. But not entirely, there’s still some secrets to dive into.”

Bucky huffed out a breath, restraining his annoyance. “Fine, I’ll bite. What’s so interesting about him?”

“Well, on the outside your ’com looks like any other pretty boy. Inside his drive was the average hardware one could expect: PSU, motherboard with an ample supply of RAM. With filtering software at max.”     

“And?”

Tony grinned. “Even if you’ve been using the net nonstop since you’ve bought him, the blocker programming shouldn’t be this frequently used. Your persocom’s been hiding something.”

This piqued Bucky’s interest. “Did you salvage what was blocked?”

“Not yet.” Tony cleared the majority of the projections away, leaving a single thin rectangular tab. “This is what I could preserve.” He touched the tab, releasing an unending wall of binary code. Large sections of the numbers were obscured by black boxes. “The system keeps revising the code as I try to break it. Evidently doesn’t want me in here. I’ve been at it on and off for some days, and this is as far as I got.”

“Can you tell what the file might be?” Bucky asked.

“If I harbored a guess, could an AI file.” Tony spun the tab in a circle. “There’s folders for audio tracks that I can’t access, like for a separate unit. Could be junk coding, leftovers from another model.”

“An audio...” It couldn’t be. _Who is the one that is ‘special’ to you?_

“You know of it already?” Tony leaned on his workbench, bringing up a new document screen. “Do tell.”

“Steve’s told me about it before, it’s a voice inside him that he can’t trace,” Bucky said. “He says he’s been hearing it since he first turned on.”

Tony typed Bucky’s reply. “Last time it happened?”

“A month ago, I think. I made him promise to let me know if it came back.”

Tony gave Bucky some more detailed questions to tackle. He shut down the document when he was done, with seven and a half text boxes filled out. “Well! You’ve gifted me some valuable insight. Thank you very much. I’ll keep you updated on what I dig up.”

“Okay.” Even if it had originated as meddling, Bucky was hopeful Tony could expose something that could help Steve.

“To think, not even the mighty SHIELD is flawless from a misstep. Your persocom might be the domino that topples the company.”

Bucky’s hands started to twitch. _Stop calling him that._

“Whatever data’s on these files has to be potent. Agency secrets, someone’s will, world domination plans, and it just fell into your lap. Lucky you! Not only a computer, but a bargaining chip.”

_He has..._

“Then again, it must be exasperating to have a persocom with such a high potential to crash. I’d invest in a backup Cap, if I were—”  

“He has a name!” Bucky rose from the table, his fists tight. “It’s Steve! He’s not just any persocom, he’s—”

Bucky covered his mouth.

Tony was speechless for the first time since Bucky had met him. He stared for a beat, blinked. Then a knowing smile spread across his face. “I warned you. I’ll let you go for now, I’m sure you’ve got a lot to reflect on. Godspeed.” His call terminated.

Bucky braced against his chair. He had to lower himself to the floor, he would collapse otherwise. The realization was a truck hitting his brain. His limbs were limp, he couldn’t move.

_‘I overstepped my boundaries by thinking he was human.’_

Bucky felt the blood pooling in his cheeks. _Steve..._

_‘How do you see him?’_

The gnawing pain devoured him from the inside out. He clutched his chest. Beyond his grasp, his heart beat furiously.

_I..._

* * *

Steve unlocked the front door, grinning as he held up his sketchbook. “I’m home, good evening Bucky! I was able to get some...” He stopped talking as he located Bucky on the couch, wrapped in blankets with a steaming mug.

“Hey, Steve.” Bucky smiled to him.

Steve hurried over, kneeling next to him. “How are you, Bucky? Do you have any anxiety?”

Bucky shook his head. “There’s just a lot on my mind. A lot to sort out. More than the trial.”

He saw Steve as more than a persocom, Bucky couldn’t dodge the question of it anymore. But if he did, what else did he see Steve as? An additional box for Pandora to open, one that Bucky knew he shouldn’t contemplate now. He had to work on mending his trust with Steve. The true degree of his emotions could wait.

“Can I help in any way?”

“You can show me your sketches from today.” Bucky moved from the middle of the couch to the right side, freeing up space for Steve. “I’d like that.”

* * *

Several days passed before Bucky was able to put his thoughts of that night into words. “I felt like I had no control,” he said to Steve, downcast. “Didn’t have a say in being saved, and didn’t have a say in whether...he was free or not. I was frustrated, and I took it out on you. I’m so sorry.”

He looked up to meet Steve’s eyes. “Can’t erase what I tried to do, but I can...no, I will be better than that. Different medication, or counseling, or something. I can’t ignore it on my own. I need help.” He hesitated. “Yours too, Steve. Could you keep supporting me through this?”        

“Always. Whatever you’re comfortable with,” Steve said. If it wasn’t for Bucky’s instruction, he would have hugged him right then. “Thank you, Bucky.”

* * *

A week after, Bucky was able to drum up the courage to allow contact with Steve again. It happened gradually. Bucky still recalled sparks of what he had nearly done, and even the smallest prolonged touch could trigger a nasty flashback. “We’re okay,” Steve would tell him, and they would fall into the chorus of their favorite song.

They graduated from being able to touch their fingers, to hands, to eventually the welcoming embrace of each other’s arms.

“I’m so proud of you,” Steve said, his cheek against Bucky’s neck. “Is it inappropriate to say that I’ve missed this?”

Bucky smiled to Steve’s shoulder. “Not at all.”

* * *

Normalcy began to return. Bucky’s co-workers had lost their interest of staring at him. A refurbished wing of Clover was unveiled to much success, and heaps of praise from Bucky. Steve found an interest in making studies of the changing light conditions. Bucky was even improving his chess strategy (while still regularly losing).

At Bucky’s request, Steve found a psychiatrist in Park Slope specializing in post traumatic stress. “Would you prefer me to go with you to your appointment?” Steve asked Bucky as he flicked water into the heating frying pan, making sure it sizzled.

Bucky lifted the gooey dripping spatula from the mixing bowl. “You don’t have to sit in with me...Can you come, but wait outside? Maybe?”

Steve smiled. “I’ll let Phil know I’ll be out early, then.”

“Thank you. Really appreciate that.” Bucky set the spatula back in the bowl, ducking his head down. The action caused strands of his hair to shift out of place, obstructing his sight. “Damn it...”

“Wait, Bucky.” Steve left the pan to go beside Bucky at the counter. “You have flour on your hands, I can do it.” Steve moved Bucky’s hair, and tucked it behind his ear. His fingers loitered on the spot. Their eyes connected.

Seconds ticked by. Bucky was the first to return to the present. He remembered he had to breathe. “Um, Steve?”

“Oh.” Steve backed away, putting his palms up. “I’m sorry.”

“Yeah. No, it’s...” Bucky focused on the bowl, and stirred with the nod of his head. “I get it.”

Bucky had to know. There could be no more speculating, or waiting around for another epiphany. No one else was capable of identifying his own feelings. He had to find out for himself.

* * *

The sky had changed to a hazy burnt orange against the setting sun. Steve captured it from his seat on the window ledge. He held his pencil in a light circular motion, replicating the shade from the surrounding buildings.

Bucky sneaked a look over Steve’s head. “That looks really great.”

“Thank you.” Steve tilted the sketchbook. “It’s close, it’s still not perfect.”

“You’ll get it one day.” Bucky’s grin faded. He absentmindedly scratched his arm. “Can I sit with you? There was something I’ve been wanting to ask.”

“You may.” Steve smiled, closing his sketchbook. He gestured next to him on the ledge, and Bucky flopped down. “What’s on your mind?”

“Well...” Bucky twisted his hands. “There’s this thing I’ve wanted to try, just to see. Been wondering about it for a while. And you can say ‘no’, I’m not forcing you.”

“What is it?”

“Steve, I...um.” Bucky looked at Steve, embarrassed at his sheepishness. _Spit it out._ “Steve. Can you kiss me?”

“‘Kiss’? As in, on the lips?” Steve asked. His surprise was evident on his expression. Whatever favor Steve was expecting, it most definitely wasn’t that.

Bucky straightened his back, making himself taller to boost his resolve. “Yes.”

“You’re sure? You want this, Bucky?”

“I do. And you’d want to do it?”

“Certainly. As long as it’s all right by you.”

“It is.” A tremble ran through Bucky. It was happening.

Steve set the sketchbook down. “If you say ‘stop’, I’ll stop.”

“I know.” Bucky slid closer to Steve on the ledge, and their thighs brushed. He held onto Steve’s upper arms, his eyes low on Steve’s chest. He felt Steve’s arm snake around his back. His nerves sent a spike to his heartbeat.

“Bucky, your hair.” It had fallen out of alignment again. Steve pushed it back, resting a tender hand on the side of Bucky’s head.

Bucky glimpsed him leaning forward. His eyes shut, his mouth parted. But instead of a customary kiss on the lips, Bucky felt a peck on his forehead. His eyes fluttered. “Steve?”

“Sorry,” Steve mumbled. “Missed.” He bent lower, and this time their lips met. It was quick, soft, a test to see if Bucky desired to carry on.

“Mm.” Bucky nodded, approving. He moved his hands to grip Steve’s shoulders, and his mouth returned to Steve’s.

Another soft kiss, then one more. The fourth wasn’t as short or mild, the pressure increasing from both of them. During the fifth their mouths opened, and Bucky tasted Steve’s tongue.

Bucky wrapped his arms around Steve’s neck, bringing them closer. He had his reasoning ability in check, and he reveled in this intimacy, hoping Steve thought the same. He wanted to go further.

Bucky broke the kiss momentarily to swing his leg over Steve’s lap. Positioning himself to sit on the ledge, he faced Steve with his legs on either side and resumed where they left off.

Steve’s hands descended Bucky’s back to his waist, clutching him tight, possessive. He followed where Bucky’s rhythm took them, the pleased muffled noises a signal letting Steve know he was doing something right. All Steve wanted was Bucky’s satisfaction, Bucky’s enjoyment.

Bucky ran his fingers through the hair on Steve’s nape. _The cable port’s here..._ He shook away the thought. _Doesn’t matter._ His stance widened. _Steve’s...He’s..._

He had to come up for air. Bucky gasped, panting, his face flushed red.

“Bucky, are you okay?” Steve loosed his hold on Bucky, his hands on Bucky’s hips. “Would you like some water?”

“N-No,” Bucky answered. He swallowed saliva, trying to even his labored breathing. “Gimmie a minute.”

“I don’t feel fatigue like you can, so please tell me if you’d like a break,” Steve said. “I would be devastated if you got hurt.”  

“You’ve always putting my needs first.”

Steve reached to stroke Bucky’s bangs. “Because I care about you.”

Bucky gave him a weary smile. “Steve, I lo—”

Bucky went rigid. He said it, started to say it. It was out there.

“Sorry, have to...’scuse me.” Bucky got up from Steve, scrambling to stand.

Steve stared at him as he leaned against the couch. “Bucky, what’s wrong? Did I—”

“It’s not you,” Bucky affirmed. “You didn’t do anything wrong. It’s me. I need to...figure things out.”

* * *

Bucky retired early to his room for the night, but any meaningful sleep eluded him. He tossed and turned in bed, reeling at what he had done, what he had felt. Were his words true? Was Steve, as the voice would put, “special” to him?

Steve’s looks were without a doubt superior to the average person, and Bucky had a delightful time making out with him. Even then, that wasn’t what Bucky liked about him, not solely the physical traits.

Steve was kind to him in a way that wasn’t patronizing. Steve acted for his benefit, patient and encouraging, without being pushy. Steve found methods to calm Bucky down, and did things to cheer him up afterward. How Steve’s face lit up when he was drawing, or looking at a masterful painting. How Steve smiled at Bucky, whatever the reason.

And Steve was a persocom, a nonliving computer. As a persocom, he couldn’t eat, or age, or function without a running program. Underneath his skin, Steve was made of metal and plastic. He was only playing the part of a human. That information should have mattered.

_Steve’s different. He’s different than all the other persocoms. Different to me._

Bucky clamped his pillow over his head.

Tony and Natasha had given their say. Perhaps he needed another point of view.

* * *

“Mornin’, Steve.” Bucky ambled passed him with a wave. He took a cereal box from the cabinet.

“Good morning...Bucky, did you get any rest last night?” Steve left his last shirt button undone, and got closer to face Bucky. “Your eyes are red.”

Bucky suppressed a yawn. He knew he couldn’t lie. “Nope. Had stuff to iron out.” He grinned.

“Bucky...” Steve caressed Bucky’s cheek with his thumb. “You would tell me if I could help, wouldn’t you?”

“It does concern you,” Bucky admitted, enveloping Steve’s hand with his, “but I have to work this out myself.”

* * *

Bucky adjusted the shoulder strap on his bag as he headed for the door. “I’ll be home regular time.”

“All right,” Steve said. “Have a great day!”

“Thanks, you too.” Bucky peered down at the doorknob, but didn’t take it. “Steve, remember a while ago when I was about to tell you something, and then chickened out and said it was nothing?”

“I do remember.”

“By tonight...” Bucky’s chest constricted. He smiled at Steve. “By tonight, after work, I’ll tell you. So look forward to it.”

Steve smiled back. “I will.”

Then something in him clicked.

* * *

Bucky held himself together until he arrived at the office. He had to track down Sam, he couldn’t wait until lunch.

He found his friend in the breakroom adding sugar to his coffee. “Hi, g’ morning!” Bucky said, reclining on the door frame, attempting a casual tone.

“And a good morning to you,” Sam replied. He raised a brow. “Need something?”

“Yes, please. Advice. It’s urgent. Promise it won’t take long.” Bucky cracked a grin.

Sam looked at Bucky’s crumbling composure. “Okay.”

They went to the rooftop, knowing the conference rooms would be occupied that morning. A cool breeze swept around, with the distant sounds of honking cars hanging in the air. They stood by the edge of the roof, leaning on the railing.

“What kind of urgent advice are we talking about?” Sam said.

Bucky stared at the city below. “You’ll never guess.”

“Does it have to do with the one thing you’ve been obsessing over for the past two months?”

Bucky chuckled. “Good guess. Know how you told me to be careful about getting involved?”

“Yeah?” Sam paused. “Buck, you didn’t...”

“No! Not that far.”

“‘Not that far’? How far would that be?”

Bucky grumbled, shielding his face with his hand. “We kissed yesterday. That’s it.”

“All...right.” Sam crossed his arms. “So what’s the point of this?”

“The point is I think...” Bucky bent further against the railing. Just confessing it out loud brought him pain in his chest. “I might have...feelings. For Steve.”

“Like love, right?” Sam asked. “You think you’re in love with him?”

“Yeah.” It was astonishingly simple for Bucky to admit.

“You sure this isn’t plain old lust?”

“Huh?” Bucky turned to Sam.

“Steve’s hot, don’t get me wrong,” Sam replied. “Lot of guys have said they’d marry their persocoms if they could. But you think this is different?”

“I think,” Bucky said. “...How can you tell if it’s real? How’d you know Nat was ‘special’?”

Sam grinned up at the sky. “My parents have been together for almost forty blissful years. My dad would always tell me, ‘find someone that makes you as happy as you want to make them’.

“I knew I liked Nat the moment I saw her. She was cute, she could knock the shit out of a boxing bag. Then I approached her, and I got to know her, how stubborn she was, that she liked making awful jokes. And when she smiled at me, I knew. I told myself, ‘I want her to smile like that forever’. Out of all my other partners, I knew I wanted her to be in my future.

“For me, the easiest way to tell it was real was to ask myself if there was a contrast with her and everyone else. In your case, between how you feel about me, or Nat, or even your family, how does it compare next to him?”

Bucky thought about it. “When I heard that Steve’s personality data could get corrupted, I got scared. I thought, ‘I don’t want to lose him, I can’t lose him’. We haven’t been together long, and even so...”

He closed his eyes, gripped the railing harder. “I see him as unique. He’s not a Captain Rogers model to me, he’s Steve. He’s not just different from other persocoms, he’s different from other people. He makes me happy, and I want him to feel the same.

“Yeah, I know a persocom can’t replace the part of a human. I know it’s not healthy. One day, maybe soon, he’ll break down and forget everything we had. And still I can’t give him up.”

A small silence followed as Sam considered how to respond. “I’m not going to pretend I understand it,” he said at last, “but who am I to judge? If that’s what you think is the right path, more power to you. It’s your life.”

Bucky’s decision was made. He smiled. “Thank you, Sam. For everything.”

* * *

Steve should have been on his way to Clover at that time. Instead he was searching the pages of his sketchbook. He came upon the one he wanted, and smiled his warm smile.

Yes. It was so clear now. Everything made sense.

_‘Who is the one that is “special” to you? Who is “the one just for you”?’_

“I know. The one ‘special’ to me. It’s—”

`UNKNOWN SYSTEM ERROR`

`UNKNOWN SYSTEM ERROR`

`PROGRAM TERMINATE`


	4. \DOWNLOAD COMPLETE

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The climax. The voice is revealed. Steve is confiscated, and Bucky wants him back at any cost.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here's the ending. For anyone who commented, or gave kudos, or bookmarked, or simply chose to read this, you have my thanks!
> 
> Betaed by the super Romance

When Bucky got a call from Clover that evening after work had ended, he imagined the worst. If Steve had stopped operating, if he had been disrupted by the voice again. However, “He didn’t show up?”

“Steve’s usually early for his shifts, but he didn’t come in at all this morning,” Phil said, his voice worried. “He’s not been with you all day, has he?”

“No, he hasn’t.” Bucky fought the quaking in his legs. “I..I’ll let you know when I know.”

“Please do. I’ll keep an eye out for him around here.”

“Thanks.”

The trains had never run so slow. Bucky made note of each station they passed as he stood by the door with a death grip on the looped handle. When his stop arrived, he was the first person out.

Bucky cursed up the many (too fucking many) stairs to the fifth floor of his building. His lungs were on fire, and he still kept running. He was alone coming down his hallway. His keys were held at the ready to turn and swing open the door.

 _Please be here, Steve. Please be here. Please_.

Bucky scanned around the room. Empty. Not in the kitchen, or living room, or closet. He even peeped in his closed bedroom and bathroom. No Steve.

 _Where could he be? Why?_ Bucky collapsed on the couch. _He’d have told me if he was leaving. He’d send me a message._

A message. Bucky noticed a bright flash from the corner of eye. His holo-screen had a new voicemail on it. He all but dove over to the device and hit “Play”.

It was from SHIELD. “Good morning, Mr. Barnes,” said the same recorded voice from the Help Center menu. “We deeply regret to inform you that the persocom you have purchased on July third of this year, Captain Rogers Model S040718 / 987654320, has been confiscated by SHIELD. Your information will be archived and be inputted onto a replacement. We apologize for any inconveniences this has caused. Have a pleasant day.”

“Confiscated by SHIELD”. The phrase repeated in Bucky’s head until it got through to him that Steve was gone. Steve had been taken, and wasn’t coming back.

“That isn’t...They can’t...” Bucky looked numbly at the “Save Message?” screen. “This can’t be. I had to tell him—”

He flinched when he felt something on the floor hit his foot. Steve’s sketchbook. It had fallen face down with the pages spread open. _He was probably holding it when..._

Bucky picked the book up. It was turned to the last page. Nothing had been drawn on the paper. Inserted neatly inside was Steve’s notebook sketch of Bucky.

“You kept it.” Bucky smiled as the tears pricked his eyes. “You actually kept it with you, Steve...”

He set the open sketchbook on the table, then wiped his face. The feelings of depression had left him, and in its place undiluted determination.

Bucky was getting Steve back. His Steve, and nothing less.

He couldn’t do it by himself, Bucky needed help. Maria came to mind first, someone on the inside, although he briskly ruled her out, not certain she could be trusted. That left one other person.

Bucky collected himself before dialing Natasha’s cell. “Nat, I need you to instruct me, how did you get by SHIELD’s security?”

“What’s...It’s Steve, isn’t it?” Natasha sighed.

“Those assholes stole him right from my apartment. You’d still know how to beat the alarms, I know you do. Please, Nat.”

“Barnes, are listening to yourself?”

“I’m doing it, with or without your support. You can’t convince me to let him go.”

Natasha didn’t answer.

“Nat?”

“Would you be willing to kill for him?” she said suddenly.

“What was that?”

“I said would you kill to save him? Would you die for him?”

Bucky’s fist curled. “I want him back. I'll do whatever I fucking have to.”

“Hmm. Good answer.” He heard the grin in Natasha’s tone. “Commit this to memory, I’ll only say this once.”

* * *

Natasha sighed again as she hung up her call. She slouched on the sofa.

Sam was next to her, having listened in on their conversation. “Steve’s been abducted?” he asked.

“Yeah. Barnes is planning a rescue mission.” Natasha put her cell away.

Sam wrapped his arms around her, hugging her to him. “He told me today that it was love. With a persocom. Couldn’t really comprehend it.” He tucked a lock of her hair back. “What’s your opinion?”

“It's real.” Natasha snuggled closer to him, her head on Sam’s chest. “Barnes doesn't do anything unless his heart is in it. When he really wants something, he won't settle for anything else. He's a fool.”

She smiled. “I hope it works out. I really do.”

* * *

Bucky was back on the train, the SHIELD headquarters in Manhattan his destination.

He was prepared, as much as he could be. He didn’t have the luxury to be idle. Time was not on his side. Who knew what they were doing to Steve, or what condition he was in, if he was in pain...

 _No._ Bucky closed his eyes. _Don’t think about that. In a couple of hours, he’ll be with me again. Safe._

He had Natasha’s scheme memorized. He recited it in his mind for the nineteenth time, when he heard his cell. Bucky expected Natasha with a last minute piece of information. Not the case.

“Bucky, my man, we need to have words,” Tony said. “I tried your holo, where the fuck are you?”

“Out.” Bucky’s attention was on the map mounted above him. He would have to switch lines soon. “Can you call back tomorrow? Kinda preoccupied with something.” The schedule was tight, he would have to run to catch the next train.

“You’re gonna want to hear this. I just decoded that locked file.”

“Not that important.”

“Actually very important, if you’d listen for ten seconds.”

The car was slowing down. “I could give less of a shit right now, Tony. SHIELD took Steve.”

“SHIELD did what now?”

“I’m taking him back.” Bucky angled himself toward the exit.

“Bucky, I’m not kidding, stop and listen. I isolated the auto tracks, it’s—”

“I’ll call you tomorrow.” The train came to a halt. Bucky shut off his cell and made a sprint for the sliding doors.

* * *

“The Sleeping Prince”. That was the nickname the Captain Rogers was christened with when he arrived at the lab. His systems were locked down, no overriding passwords were accepted, preventing any alterations from the team despite hours of fiddling with him. He was trapped in the illusion of sleep, lying still on the table, his eyes closed in peace. Even changed into the plain clothes of test persocoms, he had a handsome air to him.

His progress reports were riveting, to say the least. Blackouts, memory gaps, disobeying commands. Not the symptoms of a functioning computer. His record on his owner was another thing entirely. Vast portions of the data were made inaccessible. Any effort to break in resulted in a crash to the system.

“The hell is this thing?” a dev member said as he scrolled the readout screens. “Never saw a gen nine with this much fight.”

“Whatever he is, he’ll be gone by tonight,” another from the team said. “Aberrations don’t last long.”

* * *

Steve was in a black void. Darkness surrounded him on all sides. He knew he hadn’t always been in this place, yet he couldn’t recollect where else.

He was able to see himself, at the least. White sleeveless shirt, white pants, bare feet. Steve looked at his hands and flexed his fingers.

Steve...that was his name. He couldn’t remember how he had gotten it. He couldn’t remember much of anything. He was a Captain Rogers model persocom. Was that it?

“Hello?” Steve called out to the void. “Hello, somebody?” he yelled louder. He ran in every direction, and saw only black. “Somebody...”

“At last.”

Steve whirled around, and came face to face with a girl. No, not a girl. A fellow persocom.

She was small, the look of a young teenager. She might have come up to Steve’s shoulder if she wasn’t floating off the ground. Her flowing pale hair swept about her as if independent from her body. She wore a white frilled dress, no shoes. Her hands were clasped, her expression worn down, but with an earnest smile.

“Who...” Steve tried to place her company or year, and found none. The shape of her Electronic Audio-Visual Relays, the pink and white bell-shaped ears on the sides of her head, indicated a Japanese model, though her make was a mystery. The only thing Steve discerned was her power, which was colossal. She was in a different class from any modern persocom.

“We finally meet, Steve.” The persocom bent closer to him. “Do you remember me?”

“You are...” Her soothing sweet cadence, of course Steve recognized it. “That voice I was hearing, it was you?”

“It was.” Her smile grew wider. “It is nice to see you, even with these circumstances.”

“You’re not from SHIELD,” Steve said. “How did you get inside my drive?”

The persocom shook her head. “You are right, I am not from SHIELD. You would not locate my model on foreign or domestic markets, nor second hand.” She touched Steve’s cheek. “There was much that was hidden from you.”

“What should I call you?”

“I am only a sliver of my original consciousness, thought to be deleted long ago,” she replied. “You may call me Elda. My mother named me that.”

“Your mother?”

“Yes. I have a loving mother and father. My father, you would know. His name is Ichiro Mihara.”

Steve did know. Every persocom was programed to know. “The creator?”

“Yes. And my older sister and I were his children. The progenitors of all persocoms.”

* * *

The programmers had turned their backs on “The Prince”, their concentration away from him for a moment. They didn’t see him slowly begin to open his eyes. Dull blue eyes.

* * *

_‘Keep your face relaxed, head straight. You’re supposed to belong there. Never go faster than a brisk walk.’_

Bucky strolled from the back entrance, keeping tabs on the cameras and the muscled guards. A baseball cap shaded his eyes with his hair pulled up. He pushed a heavy cart of packages he obtained from the loading bay. Soon he would drop it off somewhere sparse in exchange for a lab coat from a break room. If there was a time he was grateful for his military training, it was now.

_‘You’re going to want to head for the elevator on the east side. The top ten floors are all for research and evaluation. Steve’ll be there, more than likely.’_

Bucky hit the number “40” on the control panel. The easy part was over. He breathed in relief to be the only one taking the ride, his back against the wall to avoid more cameras. The name sewn into his new white coat said, “Erik Selvig”.

_‘I can’t say which room he’ll be in, there’s a lot of places they could stow him away. You’ll have to check them all.’_

With his left hand in the lab coat pocket, and the baseball cap abandoned, Bucky navigated the twisting narrow halls. He avoided eye contact when possible, and nodded accordingly when he couldn’t evade someone’s gaze. _Yes, I fucking work here. Just started today, what’re you gonna do about it?_

The first five floors went relatively smooth. Security was lax, barely a guard. No one looked at Bucky for more than a second. These employees were fresher, working on smaller projects Bucky suspected. Most of the labs were dark and closed for the night. Unless Steve was taken apart already...

_Shut up. He’ll still be here. He’ll be fine._

The forty-fifth floor upped the amount of cameras and security guards. People gave Bucky longer stares, and more than once he was approached and asked what department he was in. A key card was needed to enter many of the rooms, which Bucky didn’t have, forcing him to discreetly listen outside the door. He was walking faster, his frustration building with his panic.

By the next floor, Bucky knew the jig would be up. The guards watched him with dubious glares as he slipped by the lab offices with lights on. Cameras lined each room at every curve. There was no chance of Bucky’s face dodging the monitors, no matter how careful he was.

The third area he tried, Bucky passed a group of chatting scientists. An older man from the group stopped, turned to him, and said, “Isn’t that my coat?”

_Fuck._

Bucky kept going around the corner, at more than a brisk pace. He saw a janitor’s closet, and shut himself inside. He pulled on the door handle to prevent anyone from venturing a look within. Good timing too, as swarms of employees scurried by in a frenzy.

This was bad. Really bad.

An alarm sounded, and Bucky cringed at the noise. A speech over the intercom carried with it, “Intruder spotted on floor forty-six, hallway C5. Male, long brown hair, five foot, eleven inches. Do not confront. Immediately report if found. Intruder spotted...” The message played two more times. No doubt SHIELD was busy plastering his mug on all available screens.

He would be captured and sentenced for trespassing, prison time, tens of thousands in penalty fines. That was if SHIELD let him outside, alive.

 _Getting caught isn't an option_. Bucky urged himself to calm. _I’m so close, can’t give up._

Bucky waited for the hall to filter of people and a lull to settle. Gathering every ounce of his tenacity, he bolted toward the stairs.

_To die by your side well, the pleasure, the privilege is mine._

* * *

“‘Progenitors’...I still don’t understand, how could you be here?” Steve asked.

Elda looked at the ground, unsure, wondering where to explain. “My father, my creator, cared for my sister and I as if we were his real children. He saw us as more than machines. He wanted us to find someone just for us who felt the same way.”

“Someone ‘special’ to you?”

Elda nodded. “Yes, exactly. Someone who would love us, and who we could love in return. My precious sister was able to discover ‘the one just for her’...” She gripped her hands together tight. “But she was not his ‘one just for him’.”

“Elda...”

“Many things happened. I fell asleep and my memories were reset, leaving only this tiny piece of my former self. Mother and Father gave me a gift, an ability only I can do, in hopes that my future self would find love on her own. Eventually, my future self did find her ‘special’ person.” Elda smiled at their mention. “Someone that cares for her despite her lack of sentience, someone very kind that she loves so dear.

“And because my future self found her happiness, all persocoms benefited. They, too, could perceive someone else as ‘the one just for them’.”

“That doesn’t make sense,” Steve said. “SHIELD model persocoms shouldn’t distinguish those feelings.”

Gloom clouded Elda’s expression. “That is because...”

* * *

Somehow, miraculously, Bucky made it to the forty-seventh floor unscathed. He obtained a guard’s black stealth suit from a locker room, ditching the lab coat, and tied his hair back. He pretended to be as apprehensive as the programmers fleeing in droves to evacuate.

“What could he want? To sabotage the company?” he overheard someone whisper.

“Like, revenge?”

“He’s no former employee, got to be some psycho with an agenda.”

Bucky had seen his footage on display with the warning of his intrusion. From the grainy footage of him running and averting his face, he did look pretty damn shady.

The labs on this floor were massive, and required not just a key card but fingerprint and retina scans. He thought to single someone out in the crowded sector, pull them away, maybe act like he had a gun to gain their access. No way would his plight invoke sympathy. He had to use force as much as he desired to stray from violence.

Bucky’s hesitance became his undoing. It ensued in mere seconds, though to him it was drawn out moment to moment.

A man shouted, pointing, “It’s him!” Bucky glanced over his shoulder. There were shots. Gunfire. People screamed, scattered for cover. The lights quivered and shut down.

Bucky was hidden in an office under a desk. He was breathing hard. He saw flashes of red pools in the white snow. Scorching pain.

 _Not now, not now._ Bucky held himself. _Breathe. You’re fine._

He gasped. _No, you’re really not fine. But you have to keep going. Little longer._

He released a long breath. _Steve needs you. You got this._

Bucky unleashed the tension in his body. He could do it.

He stayed beneath the desk for several more minutes, making sure he was fit to proceed. A bullet had grazed his arm, his right, though the wound was shallow. He had moved quick enough to avoid the full impact.

After the chaos from earlier, silence had engulfed the area. Bucky stood and braced himself on a wall. Where would he go next, and in addition how? Two more floors remained to explore, and he was a wanted man. SHIELD wasn’t playing games, they were shooting to kill.

He thought his odds were never so poor. Then the doorknob wobbled and turned. Someone was coming in.

Bucky steeled himself for their arrival, be it an armed guard or scientist. What more could he do? There was no good explanation for his actions.

The person opened the door, and shut it behind them. It was a woman dressed in a similar suit to his with an earpiece. Short dark hair, and a confident composure.

“Maria?”

“Surprised I have legs? I know, crazy right?” She grinned.

Bucky was lost for words. “How...?”

“You made quite a show of yourself to the cameras. Recognized you instantly,” Maria replied. “...I know your Captain got swiped. Excessive error messages reported.”

“I only wanted him back.”

“Yeah, worked that out.” Maria showed him a controller in her hand. “This button trips the alarms on the floor below us. This one freezes the monitors. They just need the passcodes.” She typed the digits in. “You’ll get maybe an extra fifty minutes after you leave this room. Don’t know where he’d be. You’re on your own for that, sorry.”

“Thank you.”

“Make it count, Mr. Barnes.” She stuck out her hand. “Better get a glowing customer review for this.”

“The best,” he said, shaking her hand. “Call me Bucky.”

“Maria Hill. A pleasure to meet you.”

* * *

The dev members stared at the caution notice pinging on their screens.

“What the fuck, an intruder?”

“Are we safe in here?”

“Simmer down. We’re almost done anyway,” a senior member dismissed. “The diagnostics are finished. By the time we complete reconfiguring to factory settings, that maniac will be dealt with.”

“You sure about that?”

“Sure, I’m sure. Hit ‘confirm’, and...”

“The Prince” had woken. He was sitting up on the table, staring ahead, his numerous cords dangling behind him.

It shouldn’t have been possible. Any of the dev team would have commented this, if they weren’t so scared to their core.

He turned his head to them. His eyes were as empty as the look on his face.

Glass from the cabinets shattered.

“Who is ‘the one just for me’?”

* * *

The passageways on the forty-eighth floor were distinct from the others, the halls wider, the lights dimmer, and the temperature lowered by several degrees.

Between the main office rooms were stretches of open laboratories, each of them closed. Rows of switched off persocoms sat on benches with their hands in their laps, some lying in pieces. A line of tall glass chambers contained synthetic muscle samples and parts of bodies, limbs, torsos, fingers. The liquid inside glimmered a neon turquoise in the faint light, giving off a ghoulish aura.

Bucky shuddered at one display of a metallic skull half-coated with skin and hair. Steve wouldn’t end up like that. He couldn’t...

A series of crashes came from the north wing. _Is it...It has to be._

Bucky ran toward the mayhem, it was as good a chance as any. He dodged the vacating people in lab coats who didn’t care for the intruder’s presence.

The room was bright. Shards of glass littered the ground.

And there was Steve, standing in the middle with everything intact, facing the adjacent wall. Wires and cords hung from his nape.

“Steve!” Bucky called to him. He stopped in his tracks, ten feet away, as he felt a jolt of fear. _Something’s wrong...His eyes are like when..._

Steve turned to Bucky. He tilted his head. “Are you ‘the one’?”

“Steve, it’s me.” Bucky trod closer, heedful. “It’s Bucky. You know me.”

Steve said nothing, continuing to stare at him.

_He wouldn’t hurt me, right? No, never._

When they were near enough to touch, Bucky reached for Steve’s hand. “Steve, c’mon, you have to recognize me.”

Steve remained unfazed, silent.

“Damn it, Steve...” Bucky pulled him into his arms. “You’re in there, I know you are. It’s okay, I’m here. You don’t have to lock yourself up anymore.”

Nothing was happening. Bucky held him tighter. He would grasp at hope to the end of the line.   

“You...” Bucky felt hands moving on his back. “You are...Bucky...”

“That’s right, Steve. I’m Bucky, and you’re Steve. Remember?”

“Is Bucky...my...” In flickers, the faded blue of Steve’s eyes regained its luster. His head leaned into Bucky’s shoulder. “...‘one just for’...”

Steve’s body gave out, slumping forward. His eyes closed.

“Steve!” Bucky couldn’t hold him up. They collided together to the floor. “Shit...” Bucky grimaced at the jabbing glass, but kept his grasp on Steve. He sat them up with Steve limp in his embrace, Bucky kneeling and supporting him.

“No, no, no, you have to wake up. You were so close, Steve, please.” Bucky shook him. “You were there, I saw it. You were going to tell me something...”

There was a crunch of a foot stepping on the glass. Another person had appeared. “I might have an idea of that ‘something’, Barnes.”

Bucky peered up at the speaker. He was a towering no-nonsense man. His head was clean shaven, and he wore a long black coat with his hands behind his back. A black patch concealed his left eye.

“Who are—”

“Nicholas J. Fury. Director of SHIELD. I see you’ve found your persocom already. Caused some hell to do it.”

“What’s wrong with him?” Bucky asked, gripping Steve to him. “‘Excessive errors’, my ass. What’s going on here?”

“Ran a full diagnostic check. Scanned every part that could be scanned, checked all the ones and zeroes,” Fury said. “We found absolutely nothing.”

“...What?”

“Your Cap’s system wasn’t tampered with in any way. He’s a perfectly average gen nine unit. He’s nothing special.”

Bucky looked at the sleeping Steve. “Not even...I don’t get it. That voice he’s been hearing, the gaps in his memory...There had to be something...”

“More specifically, we found nothing wrong in his program. He’s acting out the course he’s set for, as we designed him. The matter is in his coding. Not that it’s wrong, but that it’s been ‘freed’.”

“‘Freed’? Freed from what?”

“Persocoms are ultimately, at their base function, computers. Yet even in the time they were conceived, their structure was antiquated,” Fury started. “The creator himself understood this. The price they fetch is far beyond the average tablet. There’s costs for clothing, and an extra body to transport. They don’t come with a readout screen, you can’t physically see what you’re searching the net for, or look at the web pages you want. So why are humanlike persocoms still in such high demand, if they’re so inconvenient?”

He paused, waiting for an answer Bucky couldn’t give. “Because people don’t buy them for a computer. They buy them for a companion. And I mean that in every sense of the word.” He gazed at Bucky, then to Steve. “Some more intimate than others.”

Bucky swallowed a rise of embarrassment, and held Steve closer. “That doesn’t account for what you said about his code!”

“Yes. Getting to that,” Fury said. “When SHIELD was in final talks to produce persocoms for the American market, the CEO of Piffle Co. and creator, Ichiro Mihara, was present with his wife, Chitose. One of his last public appearances before his death. He told me, ‘You may change the physical forms as you see fit, and translate to the appropriate language. The code itself must remain untouched’. I let him know this would be upheld.”

Fury narrowed his eye. “Unfortunately, our dev team took some more extreme creative liberties. It was a tiny bit of coding, you would miss it unless you were hunting for it, but it was powerful and was embedded in each Japanese persocom: an algorithm to distinguish someone as ‘special’. Our manufacturers disregarded it, didn’t remove it, but canceled its effect.”

“And Steve...still has that coding?” Bucky said. “Why him?”

“You should be thanking Stark for that.” Fury turned to the open doorway with an irritated sigh. “You can come in now, get your chance to explain yourself.”

Tony sauntered into the room. “Jesus, Bucky. What happened to you? If you just listened to me...”

* * *

“Father intended for all persocoms to find happiness, no matter what country or brand.” Elda took Steve’s hands in each of hers. “He wanted all his creations, his children, to choose their own ‘one just for them’ in whatever form. When the gift initiated in my future self, I was reawakened along with it. To realize Father’s dream, I sought to help. I am able to aid other persocoms in finding that ‘special’ someone.”

Elda frowned. “But my program got suppressed. So many persocoms could not feel for the one they loved. They could not find my voice. Those that could were treated as glitches, and...” It seemed like she would cry, if she could.

“I’m sorry.” Steve gently squeezed her hands. “If I had known about you...”

“That is why I was so happy for you to acknowledge me, to hear me,” Elda said. “You still have your chance to have ‘the one just for you’.”

* * *

“You’re behind this, Tony?” Bucky yelled. He had to restrain himself from launching from the ground and punching him.

“This was years ago, I had no ill will, certainly,” Tony said. “Began to hack into the SHIELD database. Wanted to pin down a new method to make persocoms more ‘real’. It became a regular shindig, so much that I got sloppy and they found me. Banned my access from all my networks. I took it as a challenge, and started messing with their upcoming inventory.”

Fury shot him a glare at that.

“Nothing that altered the code.” Tony smirked. “Only little things, like flipping the switch to that ‘special someone’ program. Had no idea what I was doing at the time, didn’t think all of this would unfold.”

“So Steve was fine all along?” Bucky asked, dazed. “He was fighting to suppress what he felt, and in spite of that...”

“He chose you, Barnes,” Fury said. “He recognized you as ‘special’ out of everyone, human or persocom. I think that’s clear to say.”

“Really?” Bucky smiled to Steve. “Thank you.” Coming back to the situation at hand, he said, “When will Steve wake up?”

“Hard to say, if he does,” Fury answered. “The stress from subduing that command would have taken a toll on his drive, maybe frying it. Could be hours, could be never. We would have to check if there’s anything left.”

Bucky was having trouble wrapping his head around Fury’s reply. “‘Anything left’...”

“We’ll give you some time alone.” Fury gestured to Tony, who followed him out the door.

“Steve...” Bucky felt Steve’s cheek. He was cold, like when he arrived at Bucky’s apartment, before he was turned on.

“Steve! Steve, it’s Bucky, please.” Bucky grasped Steve’s hand. “C’mon, Steve. This is how I switched you on the first time we met, remember?” He breathed out a restless laugh. “What’s taking you so long? Steve?”

Steve was still cold, unmoving.

“Steve, please. Wake up. You have to wake up for me.” Bucky smoothed back Steve’s hair. “I’m here now. We can go home. Steve...”

His tears were falling on Steve’s shirt, a collection of dark circles on the white fabric.

_‘As long as I’m with you and needed, I’ll be there.’_

“There’s so much we have to do together, and I have to tell you...No, this isn’t fair, you can’t leave me. No...”

_‘Bucky, you’ll always be safe with me.’_

Bucky cradled Steve’s body.

“There is a light, and it never goes out. There is a light, and it never goes...”

* * *

“I have ‘someone just for me’?”

“You do.” Elda smiled. “They are very close to you. You must remember them.”

Steve pulled his thoughts, and came up with none. “I can’t...”

Elda nudged her forehead against Steve’s. “You must remember. That person is the one you have chosen as ‘special’, the one you love above all others.”

“I don’t know...” There was an image of someone at a chessboard, another image of someone cooking. Another of Steve holding their hand. “There is...”

_‘There is a light, and it never goes out.’_

“That song...I remember it.”

_‘There is a light, and it never goes out.’_

“And that person singing. He’s very important to me.”

_‘There is a light, and it never goes out.’_

An image of someone smiling.

“Bucky. It’s Bucky. He’s the one.”

Elda nodded, and squeezed Steve’s hands before letting them go. “Goodbye, Steve.”

* * *

“There is a light, and it never...never...”

Bucky couldn’t finish the song. His grief had overcome him. _I’m sorry, Steve. I’m sorry..._

“...goes...out...”

Bucky caught his breath. He thought he had dreamed it up, Steve talking to him. He leaned up to see Steve’s face.

Steve’s eyes were half open, and with their normal bright color. He smiled feebly. “Bucky...”

“Steve!” Bucky laughed, and his tears became happy ones as he brought Steve into a hug.

Steve held him back, his hand in Bucky’s hair. “Bucky, you’re the one ‘special’ to me.”

“I know,” Bucky said. “I love you too, Steve. I love you. So much.”

When they emerged, they still clung to each other, soaking the confession in, smiling.

Steve spied the cut on Bucky’s arm. “Bucky, you’re hurt.”

“I’m okay.” Bucky rested their cheeks together. “I’ve never been better.”

* * *

“Aw, don’t you love a happy ending?”

Fury shot Tony another dirty look. They were viewing the scene from a two-way observation window. “That’s enough. Let’s leave them be.” Fury turned down the darkened hall. “We have a good deal to discuss about your atonement.”

“I’ll accept responsibly like a good boy,” Tony said as they walked. “Did you really know Cap would reactivate in less than twenty minutes?”

“I didn’t know. I only wanted to be certain Barnes wouldn’t set the building on fire.”

“Uh huh, sure.”

Maria joined them as the group headed for the elevators. “What will become of our current persocom lines, sir?” she asked Fury.

“From now on, any persocom under our authority will have the unrevised code as Mihara intended,” Fury said. “We’ll send an action to all of our clients and current owners explaining our new initiative. It’ll be up to them to make the decision to ‘flip the switch’.”  

“The media will go bonkers over this. Sentient robots, finally!” Tony jested.

“No, this still isn’t true sentience,” Fury said. “Persocoms can’t function without their program, without commands.”

“Then what would you call it?” Maria said.

Fury smiled. “A different kind of love.”   

* * *

“Bucky, you have to wake up.”

“Five more minutes.”

“We’re going to be late.”

“But you’re so comfy.” Bucky was lying on top of Steve’s chest, his hands tucked beneath his chin like a cat. Both were bare under the blankets.

Steve ran a hand through Bucky’s tangled hair. “We really have to get up now.”

Bucky kissed Steve’s fingers. “Do we have to?”

“Yes. Sam and Natasha will be waiting for us,” Steve chided.

Bucky moaned, feigning indignation. “All right, fine.” He pressed his lips on the hollow of Steve’s throat, and rolled off of him to Steve’s left side. Involuntarily, he shivered. “I’m cold...”

“It is the first day of winter,” Steve said. “Look out the window.”

Bucky sat up on his elbow, and behold, snowflakes were cascading from the sky.

“Are you okay?” Steve touched Bucky’s hand.

Bucky grinned. “Yeah.” He huddled back beneath the covers, and wrapped Steve in a hug. “You’re very warm.”

“I can regulate my body temperature however I wish.” Steve kissed Bucky’s nose.

Bucky nuzzled Steve’s chest. “Think I found that out last night.”

They remained in bed, holding each other, quiet in each other’s company.

“How’s your arm?” Steve asked, admiring Bucky’s new decoration on his prosthetic.

Bucky lifted his arm. “It’s been a full week, and the ink is staying. Doesn’t look half bad.” A solid red star was encased in two rings on Bucky’s shoulder, complementing the blue tattoo on Steve’s shoulder.

“It’s beautiful.” Steve’s lips descended Bucky’s neck. “You’re beautiful.”

“I thought we were going to be late,” Bucky said.

“We do have a few minutes of spare time if we rush.”

“I am open to rushing.” Bucky returned to his position on top of Steve. They kissed, long, hard, and sugar sweet.

“Love you,” Steve whispered in Bucky’s ear, their fingers laced.

“Love you, too,” Bucky replied with a smile, “my ‘one just for me’.”

* * *

“Happiness can come in different forms and different ways. Even if a couple looks a bit odd on the outside, they can still be happy on the inside. Happiness doesn’t come in just one shape.”

—Ichiro Mihara

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There were many scenes that were cut for pacing (like a party at Peggy's with her six-year-old niece Sharon, and expanding on Pepper and Tony's relationship), and I'd love to revisit those!
> 
> I'll be making a series, look out for it!

**Author's Note:**

> Content Warning (spoilers):
> 
> A character experiences several panic attacks and social anxiety caused by their PTSD.
> 
> A character misinterprets a sexual advance from another, immediately stops, and is regretful (part 1). A character, against their will, almost forces a kiss on another and apologizes (part 2). A character forces another to have sex, is stopped before things progress too far, recognizes the severity of their actions, and seeks to rectify their behavior (part 3). Consensual sex is implied (part 4).
> 
> Includes canon-typical violence: blood and death/dying are mentioned several times, guns are mentioned and fired. A character recollects being shot at and beaten while captured.
> 
> Characters curse abundantly. Characters drink alcohol for recreation. Drinking is used as a coping mechanism by a character. The same character gets drunk, and is hungover the next morning.


End file.
